Plotbunny Archive
by skyflyte12
Summary: All my beginnings to stories that never went anywhere. Consists of time travel, crossovers, AU!HP, Shikamaru, and a great proportion of fem!Harry. Also, there was a point that I loved BAMF!Harry. I can offer no excuses.
1. Naruto AU: Travel the Worlds

Not Mine.

Naruto

* * *

Senjutsu: Travel the Worlds

* * *

"I can't stand it! It defies reason! Hell, it defies _reality_! Get me the hell away from here – _him_! I can't fucking deal with this shit no more! _Kill ME!_" Wailed a rather inebriated man, waving around a nearly-empty bottle of high-percentage alcohol like a man possessed.

Now there are depressed drunks, and angry drunks, and crazy drunks, but _this_ drunk took the cake. Not only because he was currently requesting his own ignoble death (and flirting with alcohol poisoning besides), but because any half-trained ninja of the Elemental Countries would recognise the ridiculously spiky long white hair, red tattoos painting his face, and the metal plate on his forehead with the kanji for 'Oil'. Of course, the tiny toad wearing a robe with a goatee would probably also be a hint towards the fact that the drunken man was the infamous Toad Sage, one-third of the legendary Sannin team.

Fortunately for the man's reputation, the only witness to his break down _was_ the toad that was present, one more specifically named Fukasaku – an elder from Mount Myoboku.

Of course, this did not save his reputation from the creatures of his Contract.

"Snap out of it, Jiraiya-chan! And it would help if you'd explain the situation for me fully, as well. All I've heard so far are elusions to something that you don't like very much."

Jiraiya was sprawled out on the ground at this point, his head pathetically inclined towards the elderly toad, his eyes squinting as if he was having trouble seeing it. Fukasaku privately thought that this was probably the truth of the matter, considering the strength of the alcohol in his hands, and the amount of bottles littering the clearing that they currently occupied.

Jiraiya made a concerted effort to meld the two blurry Fukasaku's together, before pinning him with a desperate coal-black gaze. "I. Can't. Stand. It."

Fukasaku wished that he had a nose that was easy to pinch. As it was, he inhaled a long breath, gathering strength. "Yes, Jiraiya-chan. I understood that thirty minutes ago. What is it that you cannot stand, youngling?"

Jiraiya's face scrunched up, his eyes darting around the clearing suspiciously before he leaned in closer to the elderly toad, who stood tall in the face of his bad breath. The man's eyes were wide as he took the childish position and whispered, "..._Naruto_."

Now, there were a few ways that the concerned mind could translate that. To Fukasaku's knowledge, Jiraiya-chan had elected to take their youngest Toad Summoner with him on a training trip about seven months ago, mostly to wise him up to the world and to draw the Akatsuki organisation away from Konoha at the same time. He hadn't heard anything bad about the boy from Gamakichi or any other of his family that had been summoned to the boy's side. "I did not think that there had been any trouble, Jiraiya-chan. Gamabunta-kun has not mentioned being summoned recently." Fukasaku responded, confused.

"No trouble! NO...TROUBLE!" Jiraiya bellowed, causing the elderly toad to flinch as, even though his poor hearing had suffered over the years, a person screaming directly into his ear was not easily dismissed.

"THAT...! He's... it's...!" The man continued, his arms gesticulating wildly.

Fukasaku was at the limit of his patience for drunken idiocy. He whipped out his weapon of choice.

"Oww! Friggen... why the hell did you hit me with that walking stick of yours gramps?" Jiraiya glared, rather ineffectually as he was nursing the prominent lump on the crown of his head.

"Jiraiya-chan, I feel that I have been patient of your antics enough for one night. Tell me what is wrong with Naruto. Now." Fukasaku was done listening to the human destroy any respect that he had gained for him over the years in less than an hour.

The hit must have knocked some of the alcohol away from his brain (possible, with the amount of senjutsu chakra he'd forcibly injected with the blow) because Jiraiya managed to drag himself off the ground and resettle into a cross-legged position on the ground. "Naruto. It's... Naruto. I... do I _have _to explain it?" He whined, seeming to realise that voicing his problem would be to admit to the ridiculous.

Fukasaku had known Jiraiya when he was a teenager, and had hoped those years were well behind the man. Obviously, they were not. He stared the man down.

Jiraiya managed to hold the toad's eyes barely five minutes before he winced and looked down. He spent the next two visibly debating with himself the best way to phrase his answer.

"Naruto... is..." The man cast his gaze aimlessly around the clearing, searching for the proper continuation to his opening. He sighed gustily, moving the spikes of hair that framed his dishevelled face. "...is Naruto. I... I _didn't_ sign up for this shit." He ended, voice in deadpan.

Fukasaku decided Jiraiya deserved another wack over the head for that, and highly delighted in the yelp it pulled from the man. "Explain."

Fukasaku held Jiraiya's eyes, and they participated in their second stare down in ten minutes. Finally, Jiraiya sighed and slumped down, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, that kid is a fucking problem. First, he won't drop the orange jumpsuit. Have you seen it? Hell, you probably _like _it, if sensei didn't complain about it to me when the kid got it in one of those messages of his, I would've thought he was colour-coordinating with that little toad that he likes – er, Gama...kichi, I think? A ninja should _not_ colour-coordinate in Kill-Me, Migraine-inducing orange. And, well, the _worst_ thing is that the brat keeps fucking picking up _strays_! I could see past the orange, could _deal_ with it on its own, but..."

The man trailed off the glance around the clearing once again, and Fukasaku waited for him to continue. If he had eyebrows, they would've been raised.

Here Jiraiya chocked, "he's... he's the _anti-ninja!_"

"Anti-ninja." Fukasaku stated flatly.

Jiraiya nodded frantically, leaning forward grimly, "Yes, that's it! Anti-ninja! I can't take it! All the... _smiles!_ And _laughing!_ And _understanding! _In _every _town or village we walk into, the craziest of the crazies find us and attack Naruto, or he talks to them, or he waves at them, and all of a sudden it's like they've taken happy pills, or gone through months of intensive therapy! I other day, I think I saw a cult of _Naruto-ism the other day!_ I can't _fucking _take this anymore, old toad! It defies logic, and the world, and – all those fucking _smiles_...!"

Jiraiya looked traumatised. Fukasaku wasn't sure exactly how he was supposed to respond to this. He thought that Jiraiya had decided that the Kyuubi was breaking free from the seal or something like that - something _easy_.

"Now, Jiraiya-chan, I'm sure it's not _that_ bad..." He reassured, although from the look he could see in the Sage's eyes, he was afraid that it just may be.

"The... _smiles._" Jiraiya shuddered. His eyes were wild, and he leaned forward and grabbed the toad by the collar of his robes, shaking him, "I don't know how much longer I can hold out, Fukasaku! _Everyday_, I wonder if it's going to be my _last_. What if he get's me too? What if I never want to peek into another girl's bathroom, what if I never spy on a hot spring anymore? WHAT IF I STOP WRITING ICHA ICHA? ..._What if I don't find __Tsunade__ attractive ANYMORE?"_ Jiraiya was panting, his gaze paranoid as it darted around the clearing, looking for blond heads of sanity-giving hair.

Fukasaku had heard enough. _WACK_.

As Jiraiya clutched his head, Fukasaku spoke firmly. "Get a hold of yourself, Jiraiya-chan. We'll think of something."

Jiraiya looked at the toad elder with slightly teary eyes, "You sure?"

Fukasaku crossed his arms grimly, nodding once. "Yes. We will find a solution."

XXX

Naruto wasn't really concerned where the pervy-sage had disappeared to for the past two days – after all, the man had left his Icha Icha manuscripts with him for proof reading. He just wished that he wasn't so bored – the only thing that he could entertain himself with was the waterfall, and there were only so many times that rolling down it without letting yourself fall in could remain amusing. He'd even held races with his clones, delegating a lot of them to a cheering squad and holding eight separate heats, with the winner getting to do the work for the pervy-sage (he wasn't sure why some of his clones were so pervy, but he'd learnt to ignore it).

He'd made friends with a grumpy badger, reunited a family of squirrels with their estranged cousin that he'd found caught in one of the traps that he'd hoped would catch Jiraiya when his sensei stumbled back to camp, and spent five hours henged as a dolphin working on his dolphin-style swim (and found that it was really hard to do those flips in a shallow-ish river) by the time the man returned.

"Yo, ero-sennin! Wha-wait. Why is that fossil-toad with you? And why's he so small, didja run outta chakra? Huh, didja?"

He ran out to meet the man, but mostly to study the really small toad that had white hair and was perched on his sensei's shoulder.

When he got within arms distance, Jiraiya whacked him over the head. "Don't call me that brat! And be respectful, this 'fossil' is the highly respected Fukasaku, an elder of Mount Myoboku!"

Naruto pouted, rubbing his head, "Oww, that _hurt_, ero-sennin! Ne, why's Fukasaku here? Is he gonna train me? Cos you aren't doing _anything_ at all! You _definitely _have to get him to help me!" He pointed up at the toad, and sent it his best grin. Think of all the cool stuff a summon could teach him! Maybe the old toad would know how Gamabunta did that water jutsu in the fight against Gaara! Being able to fire that much water at an opponent would be awesome!

"NARUTO!" He snapped to attention, it was kind of hard not to with the pervy-sage yelling in his ear. "_Finally_. God, Naruto, _listen_. You are right -"

"AWESOME! Hey, teach me that awesome w-" A large hand slapped over his mouth as another rested on his shoulder, pressing him down and stopping his excited jumping at the news that he was finally, _finally_, getting trained.

Jiraiya narrowed his coal-black eyes at his student, willing him to shut up and listen. For once. After a moment of judging if the blonde was paying attention, he continued. "As I was saying. You're a _kind of_ right. You've noticed that I've had a hard time trying to find time to train you – and _stay quiet, _I don't care to hear your accusations – me and Fukasaku have found a solution."

The toad on the tall man's shoulder spoke, "Naruto-chan, Jiraiya-chan and I are concerned that he is neglecting your training because his skills are needed to discover more about the Akatsuki for Konoha, and for you – you know that they are after the biiju. Jiraiya-chan needs to be with you at all times to watch for them. He cannot do both. He has convinced me to allow you to get an early start on the Toad Summoner's certification exam."

Jiraiya had not deemed it safe to remove his hand from the hyperactive genin's mouth, so the bright, questioning eyes and unveiled expression spoke of Naruto's confusion.

"Even though you have signed our contract, you still have not earned the right to summon all of us, Naruto-chan. Usually, we would wait for a few years to start the summoner on this path, but for you and your situation, we will compromise."

The toad affected a dignified posture, pulling at his goatee as one hand reached into his cloak. From inside the folds, he extracted a book that looked slightly worn, with the picture of a nondescript toad on the cover. It was roughly the size of two of Jiraiya's 'novels', and as the toad flipped the pages over, Naruto saw that it was lined and empty of any writing.

The toad offered the book to the blonde, who took it and cradled it like it was made of gold. Fukasaku cleared his throat, "This is a journal that we give to all of our summoners at the start of their exam. What you must do to gain full acknowledgment from the Toads is fill that up with writing."

Naruto's eyes were round as he stared up at the elderly toad, silent in the face of how very serious the whole situation sounded – he didn't have the full approval of the toads? That was horrible! He'd get it, believe it!

Fukasaku seemed catch his eyes again before he continued in a grave voice. "But not just _any_ writing. You, young summoner, must undertake a journey-"

Naruto squeaked, but whatever he had meant to say was muffled under Jiraiya's hand.

"-and not just a run of the mill journey, either. It is a journey..." here the toad paused, allowing a feeling of suspense and importance to build before finishing, "A journey to _another world_!"

Naruto squealed in excitement (the only noise that could escape the hand that Jiraiya had no intention of removing any time soon) and punched his arm in the air in complete delight. How freaking _awesome_ was he, that he got to go to another _world_? That was ten-degrees of kick-ass awesome right there!

"But!" Fukasaku said sharply, regaining Naruto's rather elusive attention. "There is one rule that you have to abide by." The elder narrowed his eyes at the blonde.

Naruto's blue eyes widened and he frantically nodded, willing to do _anything_ to gain the toad's trust.

"You must, at _all times_, have with you one of us toads to watch over you and journey with you – the aim of this mission is to gain knowledge and experience, and to build up a partnership with the toad that accompanies you."

Here, Fukasaku smiled. "Fortunately for you, someone already volunteered to go with you." At that moment, with a puff of smoke, a very familiar orange-coloured toad appeared perched upon Naruto's head, narrowly avoiding colliding with Jiraiya's hand.

"Yo, boss!"

Naruto's eyes almost rolled back into his head as he tried to see the toad perched upon it. He settled with a wave in greeting, as the pervy-sage _still_ hadn't released him. This was the longest he'd _ever_ gone without talking that he remembered – the second longest was when Iruka had duck-taped his mouth shut, but he'd worked out the trick of getting it off not long after.

"Hello, Gamakichi." Fukasaku calmly greeted. "You are sure that you're ready for this mission?"

The young toad drew himself up and nodded, "Hell yes! Just try to stop us! We'll kick that world's ass!"

Naruto managed to second this non-verbally, although Fukasaku and Jiraiya both could not see how as he was firmly rooted to the spot and hadn't moved his arms. Maybe it was in the eyebrows...?

"Very well." Fukasaku said gravely. "Jiraiya-chan, release Naruto-chan and move away from the two. It is time for them to get going."

Jiraiya carefully removed his hands, hoping that the kid would keep still long enough to be transported with the toad contract to another world.

Fukasaku began forming seals, ones that Naruto could not recognise. The toad spoke, "Now, keep safe, both of you. You are partners, comrades, and must look after each other if Naruto is to complete this mission. The mission will last until you have filled up the book, or after two years of travelling. Gamakichi knows how to send word back for us to recall you if you get into trouble."

His hands finally settled into a funny square-shape, and the toad smirked. "Senjutsu: Travel the Worlds."

The genin and toad disappeared in a puff of smoke, exactly like if they had been reverse-summoned although the truth was far more fantastical, even to a legendary ninja.

Jiraiya and Fukasaku stared at the empty spot for a moment calmly.

They glanced at each other, and breathed a huge sigh of relief – he bought it.

"We're not telling Tsunade." Jiraiya stated.

Fukasaku hummed. "Better not tell Shima either." The toad elder added.

Jiraiya nodded solemnly, "That goes without saying. This was a good idea, right?"

Fukasaku hesitated for a moment. "Naruto-chan will be much safer away from the Akatsuki, and he might just learn something useful on his own. Gamakichi will look after him."

Jiraiya nodded, starting to feel much better about the idea. "It was necessary. Give him a year or two to work out all that fuzzy good-will shit. Best case scenario, he'll return nice and hardened like a proper shinobi for me to teach. Hell, he might even give up on that Sasuke brat."

"I thought that I'd removed all of your silly optimism over the years, Jiraiya-chan." The toad elder cautioned, not wanting the sage to get his hopes up.

"I'll keep that in mind." Jiraiya responded. "Either way, Icha Icha is safe." Crossed his arms and nodded, any lingering doubt resolved at this reminder.

"Yes." Fukasaku nodded, crossing his arms as well.

"We've done the world a favour. What's the worst that can happen?"

* * *

A/N: Okay. It was about time that I started one of these plot bunny things myself, simply because of all of the ones that I think are awesome but don't want to start because I know I'll never finish them – I'm having enough trouble as it is.

For this one, if I'd done it I was planning on having it crossed with One Piece, and writing Naruto and Gamakichi's high jinks on the sea, having them doing ridiculous things all over. But... it's not gonna happen. I think it would be absolutely awesome to find people who want to add on to this story, who will use this as a starting chapter and then cross Naruto with another story – it would be even cooler if a lot of people do it, but with all different stories in which he could end up in! I'd put the links here, so people could find 'em – free advertising! Pretty please (blinks eyes) it could be a challenge! Two years of Naruto and Gamakichi going around causing havoc!

Anyway, hope everybody enjoys this :). For reference, the next one-shot is either going to be Naruto/Death Note or Harry Potter/Katekyo Hitman Reborn – but I'm not sure. It's at least more probable than it being anything else.

-Skyflyte12


	2. Hermione: A study of Outcasts

Not Mine.

Harry Potter

* * *

Perfect Symphony

* * *

She'll never forget the day that she received a letter that claimed that she was a witch.

Never in a million years will she ever forget just how much it felt like she had found the _right_ place, _finally_ – after all those years when something felt incredibly _wrong_, sitting in her primary school but never really _there_. Hogwarts was _breathtaking_. For the first time, that place in the back of her mind that, like clockwork, was ticking _wrongwrongwrong_ had quieted, gears grinding to a halt and she revelled in her peace.

The teasing didn't bother her against that, not really. She simply found friends amongst the older students, giving oneself a goal to strive towards in the process, finding her true _niche_ in life.

Hogwarts was peace, salvation, the place where she fit.

She felt that it was because she had experienced that feeling, that irrational _knowing_ that one had been displaced before, the one jarring note in a symphony of order and detailed intricacy, that she was highly aware of the odd one out in her year. Quite apart from the spot light fixed to him, his slumped and timid posture, his avoidance of everybody and the unexplained absences that were never commented on by the staff, Harry Potter was an outcast.

Hermione had seen the stares that followed him in the first year change. They used to watch him, revere him. One look at his eyes changed that.

Hermione knew of the overused saying, that the 'eyes were the window to the soul', and she also knew that this was far more literally applicable in the magical world. Green, too green, and lit behind from some form of flame, sparking in the background and barely restrained, aggressively attacking any who met his eyes directly, repelling them faster than any words or actions were capable of.

It wasn't that Harry Potter had ever said so much as a rude word, or acted out aggressively against his class mates. He was just _there_. His presence was impossible to ignore, a pressure on the back of your neck or the silent spider that you _knew_ was in the corner of your room, crouched above your level in wait. For what purpose, you never could quite tell.

It was really only in the second year that anyone of mention heard anything from the Potter himself, and that was the infamous outburst at Headmaster Dumbledore, in front of the whole school in the middle of dinner. Never was the fact that he was misplaced so clearly seen, even by those who had deliberately ignored this unsettling detail – after all, the Boy-Who-Lived was to be the leader of their generation, the greatest wizard of their age with the most magical and politically powerful person since Albus Dumbledore.

No one had known what they were talking about, although the increasingly wild rumours circulating in the days, weeks and even months afterwards made quite a lot of attempts at guessing.

Two things about that argument stood out starkly for Hermione Granger, the muggleborn girl that was sitting among her fifth year friends at the red and gold table. Potter's hand held an object in what she could only describe as a death grip, his knuckles bleaching as white as the strangely shaped object they were clenched around. It was thin, in a cone shape with blunt ends, one large and the other as small as a penny, and about the length of his elbow to the tips of his fingers. To this day, she had no idea what it could have been, or why Potter had raised it in front of him, so that the length could clearly be seen, the sides spilling out so that even those seated directly behind him could see the tips of it.

The other thing that she clearly remembered, the one that _stood out_ among the incomprehensible statements that were obviously a continuation of a conversation they had previously began (and since when had the Headmaster been talking to her classmate in private, anyway?) were the words "You can't keep me!" screamed; an accusation, challenge and condemnation all wrapped up in the one. This one incident was what had aroused Hermione Granger's interest in the strange outcast, the off-note in their otherwise perfectly tuned musical composition.

Headmaster Dumbledore had responded quite sternly that "Mr Potter, you will attend detentions just like every other student must", and that had the effect of Potter stiffening in his spot before shouting curses at the man that made the seventh year students blush and stutter, although Hermione did not quite understand why – at the time, that is. She remembers the loud crashing of thunder above them, and the scarring of lightning splitting the sky above them through the transparent ceiling, the way the light reflected off the boy's wild black hair in an eerie green eye colour, dark and menacing.

She thinks, years later and with the perfect vision granted by hindsight, that Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore had not been quibbling over a skipped detention and the disciplinary requirements of an Institution such as Hogwarts, although this had been an easy – yes, she thinks, _too _easy – an explanation for such a stand off. After all, it is not uncommon for teenage rebellion to cause such outbursts, and the gossiping later had affirmed that Potter had, indeed, received a detention that day from Professor Snape in the lunch period.

Hermione both wishes that she had been able to see the boy's face and is at the same time thankful that she didn't. After that day, she notices a tension in her classes between the educators that had flinched back from his expression that day as he stared down the most prominent wizard of Great Britain. She wonders what had been seen in that moment of completely unguarded emotion, mostly because she never sees it again.

Potter had changed. That flame that had sparked and spit, lighting his darkly green eyes from within and frightened away both well-wishers and enemies had disappeared, dried up, leaving behind only blank, flat green eyes that dully stared and evaluated. His once stiff posture and odd flighty periods ceased as he settled into a lazy stance and his personality, which had even before been rigid, calculating but always quick, alert and aware, changed to mirror it.

A year passed and she realised that the bored eyes, the lazy posture and completely unsurprised and composed mindset was there to stay.

The last time she saw the boy called Harry Potter, she had not really thought that it would be the last. Even so, she remembers. Potter was just that kind of person – memorable, even though he was mostly ignored by the school and in turn ignored them back, she felt there was always something else, something behind the visage of the regular, albeit strange and in truth not very regular at all, student.

It was the end of Third year, and she knew that one of Potter's regular disappearances had been taking place for the previous two weeks. She spotted him at a distance; able to pick the odd one out as astutely as when the experience had still been so raw to her at the beginning of her first year. He strolled along, hands in his pockets and parting the students milling about without a thought or care. Hermione could not recall when that small, tiny boy that had clenched his hands around the thin white pointed object and snarled at the Headmaster with such rage and venom had developed the ability to stroll anywhere, or appear to be so relaxed when she _knew_ (or, at least, she reasonably strongly suspected) that this was no where near the case.

But this new thought was not the one that grabbed hold of her thoughts, twisting them harshly and refusing her the bliss of ignorance, of being able to continue on and not comprehend that which her vision was insistently telling her thoughts to stand up and pay attention. She wished she could believe that he was simply walking around with one eye closed because he wanted to.

She flitted over the vivid red, orange and purple hues with her horrified eyes and zeroed in on the closed right eye. The stitches, black threading through human flesh, eyelids, sewing it closed. Never to open again. She would never observe both eyes from a distance, looking for the spark that had played in them in first year, when the boy was full of grit and anger for his harassed, tormented life situation.

She has a feeling that Potter is not dead, because she recognises the undeniable spirit in his bruised, maimed body. Though he has experienced things that Hermione knows she, who has two loving parents and friends, could never imagine in her worst nightmares, she also knows that he first needs to find the song to which he belongs.

Hermione Granger had discovered the best place in the world for her, the place that made _sense_, at the tender age of eleven through her acceptance into the wizarding world of Great Britain. She knew, and she had a feeling that Harry Potter knew as well, that out there was somewhere he would find exactly the same, the place where he was not a jarring note, an aberration to the greater whole but rather fit in seamlessly, where he was born to be, where he would discover his own family and friends.

She heard nothing more about Harry Potter from that day, apart from the odd journal article slipped in the back pages of the Daily Prophet on a slow news day, wondering what had happened to the boy that had once been famous.

x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x.X.x

_A/N. So, not a crossover. I did this a while ago, then promptly lost it in my laptop. I found this idea strangely compelling – having a look at an A.U Harry – possibly one that had time travelled and was now playing things differently – from a point of view that isn't in on the butt of the joke. I'd like to see what you guys thought of this, so please review. Oh, and I'm totally not JK Rowling. Duh._


	3. Shikamaru in Death Note

Shikamaru in the Death Note universe

Naruto/Death Note crossover

**The Inconveniently Extended Life and Times of Shikamaru Nara**

There was never anything incredibly outstanding about Shikamaru Nara, the (reluctant) jounin of Konohagakure no Sato.

That just so happened to be the way that he preferred it.

He completed his missions, played a lot of shougi, and was blackmailed (upon threat of being tied to Naruto for however long it took by a very short chain) into becoming the special advisor to the Rokudaime Hokage and managed to make it work for him.

On the whole, he was a loyal and intelligent, albeit chronically lazy and confrontation-avoiding shinobi.

But this acceptable, relatively relaxing life (in the eyes of one Shikamaru Nara) does not a good story make.

No, the truly… troublesome events began the very moment that Shikamaru figured he could finally put his responsibilities and annoying co-workers behind him. To put it frankly, he died. And other than the fact that he'd not managed to fulfil his dream of marrying a mellow wife and having one kid of each gender, he was okay with that. He'd managed to protect his friends (no matter how troublesome they were) and that was all that mattered.

He especially looked forward to the promise of a cosy relaxing afterlife.

And thus, when the eighteen-year old ninja opened his eyes to a white ceiling, the smell of chemicals that he couldn't quite identify (which he _should_ know, having been required as a Nara to _know_, no matter how troublesome) and strange noises that he couldn't quite place, he exhaled exasperatedly.

He may have even rolled his eyes.

The terminally lazy ninja just slumped down onto the (thin, too itchy) mattress and allowed himself to drift back to sleep – it would be too troublesome a thing to work out what was happening at that moment, he'd do it later.

Naruto/Death Note 2

**Death and Life**

**A** man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase strode purposefully down a bustling London street, fellow commuters subconsciously making a path for him as he went.

The man quickly arrived at his destination. It was a drab building that only reached half as high as the town houses on either side of it, although seemed to be more generously proportioned width-wise. The building was one that certainly did not seem to merit the man's rather professional attire, as any casual observer would see the weathered glass, the lop-sided roof, the pieces of old woodwork that had fallen away, or even just rotted and was now left to dangle from its original bearings, giving the building a more depressed look on the whole.

This did not seem to deter the man though, as he stepped up to the door and rapped it smartly with the knocker. The noise of muffled footsteps echoed from within, along with a wordless shout of acknowledgement as they approached, and the man stepped an appropriate distance from the door and straightened out his jacket, which did not need the attention.

The woman that opened the door looked harried, her black hair falling out of its bun haphazardly and her mouth settled into a tight frown. With little fanfare, and disregarding the usual social niceties associated with polite conversation and the proper role of a hostess. "Oh, it's you. He's out back."

The man was unfazed by the woman's blunt tone. In fact, this particular man was more than used to bluntness in his associates, and it no longer affected him – although he did so enjoy the moments he was able to engage in the common social conventions himself. The people that he associated himself with usual had a legitimate reason for being so brief, as time and circumstances permitted, and he knew for a fact that this woman was in charge of thirty-five children of varying ages, had very little help on staff at the moment, and was also in the middle of sorting out the taxes for the orphanage.

So he nodded and smiled politely while stepping into the hallway, "Thank-you, ma'am. I take it the paperwork is in order, correct?"

The woman shut the door behind him smartly and began walking back down the hall, indicating that the man should follow her, "Yes, Mr. Whammy, it's all in order – we were contacted by the services and appropriate places, all the forms are filed and the last thing you have to do is collect the child." She seemed to almost want to add something onto that professional sentence – Quillsh Whammy was not an unintelligent man, and he could read that her comment would have been along the lines of _'although why you want _him_ of all people…'_ but he politely ignored her implication.

The woman opened a door that led to a rather bland backyard, which consisted mainly of weeds and rough grass. A few of the resident children were running around in the midst of some game, and there was a group of the older children gathered around a few rather beaten up fold-out chairs. But his eyes rested on a dark-haired child that he easily recognised from the headshots that accompanied his official files, and subsequent photographs taken by a few people that he had had assess the possible addition to his program more closely and carefully, as was the regular protocol for all possible entrants, designed so that he would always know what he was introducing into his House. Of course, these precautions were also for the protection of the applicant – an assessment of the likely outcome of their introduction, whether the prospective entrant will be able to adapt to the regimen of Whammy House, and whether they would be able to be accepted in with the residents.

The child was reclined on the ground, his head resting on his arms, which were stretched out behind him. He seemed not to be bothered by the fact that the grass was riddled with weeds, and no doubt causing him some measure of discomfort, or the times when children would jump over him in their enthusiasm for their game. Witnessing a child almost misjudge their jump and narrowly avoid landing on the relaxed figure made Quillsh itch to stop the children, but he noticed that the matron didn't seem particularly bothered by it and forced himself to similarly dismiss it – the boy would be removed from the environment soon enough.

Quillsh knew that the boy was eight years old as of September, that he was a genius of unmeasured capacity, and that he had one defining trait that all of the examiners and investigators into the boy had remarked upon with… surprising regularity. The boy was lazy. One of the reasons that they were as yet unsure as to where this boy's IQ ranked within the house of geniuses was because he was the first child _ever_ tested to complain that it took 'too much effort' to pick up his pen and fill out the test, or that it was 'too troublesome'. He was an anomaly of a type that they had not previously discovered, and although some people commented that this boy would not be suited to Whammy House, Quillsh disagreed. After all it was, in his experience, the children that were the most unique that produced the best results, that conquered the other children that could be mistaken for being more 'normal' than the others.

"And here he is." The matron muttered to him before striding across the garden purposefully, scattering the children that had been in her path. Quillsh followed her without comment, and stopped apart from her as the halted near the boy and got his attention. "Samuel! Get your head out of the clouds and focus, the man is here to collect you – you remember him from before, you know – Mr. Whammy."

The boy's dark eyes moved from the sky, to which Quillsh knew the boy to be indulging in his primary habit – cloud watching – to rest on the aged man in his smart business suit. His eyes in that moment shone with the keen _intent_ that Quillsh had witnessed when he had arrived to speak with and assess the boy before he began the complicated process of processing a new entrant into Whammy House.

It was in that initial contact that Whammy usually just_ knew_ when he had found a child that would be able to thrive and succeed in his program, those that had what it took to be given the chance to work towards becoming L's succeeder. The talk that he had had with young Samuel had proven to him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he _needed _to count the boy among those students of Whammy House. It was a memorable confrontation, and he would never forget the look in his eyes, the _conviction_ and the _questions_ asked by the boy – he had revealed much, in that session, and thought that he had received enough confidence in return to get a _glimpse_ at what flowed below the boy's passive and bored expression.


	4. HPFFX: An Aeon

**Harry Potter/Final Fantasy X:**

Chapter one

**«×φ×»**

…_I don't know exactly what it was that alerted me that day; the day that someone had once again stumbled across my 'resting' place. _

_There had been no one else for so long – besides the _Others_ – that I had almost accepted that I was fated to keep on Surviving and never properly have known what it was to Live._

_Of course, that dismal vision of a possible future was scattered in a moment by his abrupt intrusion – like so many leaves in the wind._

_It was a… welcome… change._

_Of course, I do not think that he shared my perspective at the time._

**«×φ×»**

_Thoughts through the Ages_

Time loses meaning after so much of it has drifted by. Months feel like seconds, years feel like minutes, and the only way you have of estimating your years among the living is by centuries, or even millennia. The civilisation you had known evolves, and then evolves again and again until truths once known were lost, and new truths or new ideals replace those of old; not necessarily wrong, but never the same.

She always felt it was like a very large game of Chinese Whispers. You start out with an idea, a truth, and goal, and by the time it reaches where it began it has evolved so much through the errors that accumulate from the retellings that it is unrecognisable from how it once was.

She was among the living and the dead, but truly she was neither – not quite alive enough to be considered alive, and yet not dead enough to be considered dead.

She was an anomaly, and had been even before she set foot on this world by way of Prophesy.

But that happened long ago, and it was pointless to ruminate upon events and persons so long gone that the dust would not remain.

All she had was the word of the Others that beings yet lived and inhabited the Earth –renamed and made as Spira, now – and the Ruins that had been her 'resting place' for a long while – where she had been relocated to in the midst of the Yevon-Zanarkand war because none in Zanarkand could control her as they did those dead fayth; those created many times after her own forced creation in her image – and yet they were not the same, not even close.

They could claim to be more dead than alive.

**«×φ×»**

She groggily blinked her eyes as she rose into full alertness for the first time in a long while. "Now just… why?" She muttered to herself, taking note of the immense deterioration in the building around her – obviously it had been a while.

A faint… _something_ made her pause. When the rustling repeated itself, a goofy smile broke out upon her face, unseen by anything other than the odd insect. There was someone coming! _Finally_ she'd be able to get out and see things – be able to leave behind the musty old ruins!

Heh, she might even be able to get this person to come back some time and move her Stone somewhere else so the next time she was forgotten she'd have a beach-front view for it!

Yes, that was definitely the sound of footsteps – and dripping water. Well, the Others did say the water had risen to cover most of the Land.

A loud ~_creeaaakkk~_ echoed around the room and she span on the spot to see the large bronze doors with a broken lock pushed inward.

She studied the person that had entered. He looked to be about seventeen years old with the look and build of a fighter, heavily tanned with blonde hair and light blue eyes. He had a fairly large sword strapped to his back and wore what she easily identified as the Zanarkand Abe's team uniform. Why exactly he was wearing a blitzball uniform from a team she knew had not survived the ages was beyond her, but she did not pay much mind to it. Puzzles could only be connected if you had the right pieces, after all – and soon (if she had her way) she would be handed them.

She knew that he had seen her when he froze. His mouth dropped and he paused mid-step, almost tripping over. She didn't even try to hold back the snickers that bubbled up from her throat (for the first time in a long time) because of his completely dumbfounded face. No matter how many times she saw that look she _always_ found it hilarious.

…Of course, had she been seventeen and stumbled upon a very ghost-like (albeit coloured) person _floating_ in _light_ atop a _glowing_ stone well… she would put money on donning the expression herself, and _she_ had been _used_ to strange stuff popping up from her education at Hogwarts.

She gazed directly in his eyes and by way of legilimency saw exactly what he did.

_A glowing woman in her teens, short and thin but with lithe muscles betraying strength. Midnight black hair falling around sharp features in waves past shoulders, piercing; almost glowing brilliantly emerald green eyes in a trapping gaze. Other-worldly appearance, strange clothes; loose robe with long sleeves and leather sandals. A striking type of beauty – unconventional; he had never seen someone quite like her._

He blinked and she released his eyes, her lips quirking up a bit. Her ego could _always_ do with a boost – complements were always nice, after all, and it had been quite a while since her last Summoner was around for her to receive them.

"Hello, it has been a while since anyone came to visit me." She kept her voice light and teasing, and she smiled softly at him. After all, it wouldn't do to run him off.

The blonde just blinked up at her, his lips parted slightly and she knew that he was surprised that she had spoken.

"My name is Nix. What is yours?"

…

"You don't know your own name?" She was beginning to think she had broken him.

"Hello? Are you alright? I would come down there, but…" Nix gestured vaguely at the stone beneath her and 'knelt' down (well, as much as she could while to all appearances she was floating in mid-air) so she was closer to his level instead of hovering above him. She was debating whether to give him a mental jab when his brain seemed to catch up to the present.

"…oh! Sorry, I just wasn't expecting to meet anyone here… it's kinda abandoned, you know? And you wouldn't believe the day I've had… well, I guess I normally wouldn't believe I'd be meeting a floating girl, so I guess it evens out…" His voice started loud and kind of lost volume as he went on so that by the end he was almost muttering to himself.

Nix grinned and laughed – he was kinda amusing, in a slightly-naïve cute-ish way. Meh, maybe it had been too long since she'd seen someone of the opposite gender – no, it had _definitely _been too long. Hey, she could admire the view, right?

She coughed to get his attention and raised a dark eyebrow at him.

"Huh? Oh! Let me tell you, I'm glad you're here! I thought I was all alone. Umm… I'm Tidus, and it's good to meet you, Nix. But do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You seem nervous. What is it that is troubling you, Tidus?" Her voice held a note of mischief, and had he not been glancing in the floor in embarrassment he may have caught it.

"Erm… well, why are you…" He gestured vaguely at her and she filled in "floating in light?"

He nodded and glanced back up, but as he did another cool breeze swept through the room and his arms closed around himself convulsively – it was cold, then. She smiled to comfort him and said "You have stumbled upon the fayth of these ruins. You may be worthy of my help, but is my help what you truly desire?"

By the confused face he pulled, Nix derived that he did not know what a Fayth was, and that was strange in a world that had been focused our existence for such a long time – even before Yu Yevon and his manufactured religion made use of the fayth and their aeons in his plot to avenge his dying world.

A harsher wind swept the room, and Nix was mildly concerned to see his breath mist out in front of him, along with increased shivering.

"C-can y-you make a f-fire?" He hunched into himself further to conserve body heat.

"Yes, that is within my capabilities." That had to be in the top-5 list of weirdest reasons that summoners had given to gain her aid.

"Then yes I want your help!" His voice was brash and exasperated at the same time, and he looked expectantly at her. Nix tilted her head to the side. Almost all of her recent summoners – the ones from Zanarkand – had been painfully polite and properly awe-struck when appealing to her for use of her aeon. It was almost a novelty to be treated like… a _normal_ human, and she was put off-balance at the change.

Now she _knew_ he could have never heard of the fayth – at least in the view of any of the recent civilisations.

His impatient gaze was still fixed upon her, and she found herself curios and almost… excited about travelling with this strange boy as her summoner. She recognised the look of one who was important to the future, so no doubt whatever this Tidus was in for would at least be fun to watch.

She smirked and shrugged before converting to energy and rushing him, flooding his magical core with her strength.

He was out cold from the blow, but she ignored that and settled the connection required for summer/aeon properly, before calling up her power actively for the first time in _ages_.

The air next to the passed-out blitzballer shimmered, and that was the only sign of something happening before it wound together and a figure materialised.

Nix took a deep breath of the icy-air and swiped her fringe out of her eyes, revelling for a moment in feeling solid ground under her feet and smelling the stale air. The blonde boy on the ground shivered and an echo of his plight ran down the newly-formed bond. She sighed but figured she may as well start a fire for him – he _was_ the reason she could walk around again, after all.

A few muttered words and she had a blue fire burning away that wouldn't need fuel. She grabbed him under the elbows and moved him into a better position on his back. Nix paused for a moment and pursed her lips, watching his sprawled position – he was still shivering. Scowling, she also tossed a warming charm his way, muttering darkly to herself about going soft.

Nix reclined back against a pillar and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully on her newest summoner. He really had no idea what he had gotten into – by agreeing to house her aeon, he had essentially given her free reign to summon her being into reality, so she could bug him as much as she pleased and he couldn't do a thing about it.

_That_ was the difference between her and the Others. The Others, when gifting their aeon to a summoner, could see into the person's thoughts as well as talk to them and give them directions mind-to-mind. The summoner controlled when the aeon was brought into being, and then controlled the aeon's actions.

Nix had full consciousness and control of her actions, had the ability to bring her 'original' form into being and could either appear solely to her summoner or choose to be seen by all as just a regular (albeit strange) person – although she could not venture very far away from her summoner lest her form dissolve. She didn't have to take any orders (well, _mostly_) and fully controlled her own actions when in aeon form (although the summoner had to consciously bring it into being and could give _suggestions_).

Those differences were what had the Zanarkand summoners (and all those that came before) very wary and careful of her.

Why was she so different from those other aeons, one may ask?

It was because she was the First.

Very suddenly, a fiend _crashed_ down from the upper levels and apparently kicked up enough sound and shaking up enough fuss that it woke Tidus from the dead-sleep induced from suddenly accepting Nix's aeon.

He drew his sword and dashed in without anything resembling a strategy, slicing a gash across its side before darting back away. Nix hadn't moved from her spot and as he desperately dodged the creatures attack he yelled "Hey! A little help? Didn't you say you'd help me, Nix? 'Cos a bit of help would be _very_ appreciated right now!"

Nix didn't move and watched dispassionately as he hit the thing across its front leg "Naw, you're not going to die."

"WHAT! Come on!" He then yelped as a large claw caught him across the side and sent him crashing into a pillar.

Nix was unmoved and watched the fight idly from the sidelines. Now, seeing Tidus fight, she could tell he was a total novice with that sword. Sure, he had muscles, but they had been honed through blitzball and not fighting of any description – and it showed.

Tidus was getting kicked around when the sealed door behind him was blown open and a small group of Al Bhed entered. Tidus' eyes widened as the girl, dressed in an Al Bhed diving suit with goggles on, stepped up beside him and settled into an attack position, "You on my side? Finally!"

Tidus threw a half-glare at Nix, who had still not moved from her position, before he focused on the battle again.

Nix shrugged to herself. The Klikk was ignoring her because it felt her power, so who was she to step in? Tidus needed all the training he could get if he wanted to get even half as strong as her usual summoners.

With the help of the girl and her grenades (heh, she could get to like that girl) Tidus killed the fiend. "Whew! That was close!" He threw another look over at Nix and said "Of course, if _you_ had helped, it woulda been easier!"

Nix just smirked at him, and the Al Bhed girl removed her goggles and looked over the blitzballer's shoulder confusedly thus missing one of her friends roughly grabbing Tidus' hair.

"Hey, lemme go!"

The Al Bhed that had a hold of Tidus yelled "Fryd ec drec?"

What followed was a conversation in Al Bhed, Tidus freaking out completely at not understanding anything, and culminated in the girl that had helped Tidus before punching him in the stomach to stop her friend with the knife from straight out killing him. Of course had she thought for a moment that she would allow him to knife her first summoner in ages... well, by that point _he_ would have been dead. No way was she getting stuck back in that rock so quickly after hitching a ride out! Nix knew that Tidus would probably bitch at her when he regained consciousness because she hadn't stepped in to help him at any point (but what was she, a babysitter?).


	5. NarutoOuran: The Banished Uchiha

5. **Naruto/Ouran High School Host club crossover **

**The Banished Uchiha**

'The school is large' pretty much summed up her thoughts nicely as she caught her first glimpse at the fabled Ouran Academy. And it was. Larger than life; flashy, ostentatious, imposing, grandiose, flamboyant and so _obviously_ ridiculously expensive it really wasn't funny. It looked like a palace a child – no, a little girl from the colour pink – would design as her _dream house_, where she could marry a striking prince who would be her knight in shining armour and they would live '_happily ever after' _with unicorns and gumdrops and it was oh-so-sickly-sweet that she couldn't keep the sneer of disgust from flickering across her face.

By the look on her driver's face that she could see through the rear-vision mirror, he thought it too.

Of course, with all the rich little 'princes' and 'princesses' attending, it was the perfect image and show of wealth; sort of like a _'hey, I can afford this ridiculously expensive education for my heir/child/ward which means I'm at the top of the top, living in the lap of luxury'_. Well, Yui reflected to herself, that's _exactly_ what it was; the only way the rich and famous _knew_ of 'whipping it out and measuring'.

Ouran High School Academy was really the epitome of this, and it was filled to the brim with naïve rich-brats rubbing elbows and fortunes and being air-heads and idiots. Yui would know – she'd done a bit of research when she'd been informed of her 'guardian's' decision to have her installed in the useless school because of it looking good or something – she didn't particularly care to listen. And shinobi just _didn't_ go into any situation without some idea of what to expect.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door beside her opened; "Lady Nakamura. We have arrived."

She glanced at the uniformed driver for a moment, pinning him with her midnight-blue eyes and said coldly, "It's Uchiha."

The man bowed and muttered apologies as she slid gracefully out of the (totally unnecessary and annoying) limo. As she went to walk away, she sighed slightly and looked back at the worried man – probably frightened of losing his job – and decided that he didn't deserve suffering her misdirected anger. "Thankyou, Jiao-san. I will call if I need transportation." She made sure to smile slightly and nod her head, and leave unmentioned that she had no intention of being driven home.

Let the new employees work out that she disliked being treated like some spoilt little princess on their own time; there was no point saying it when actions spoke louder than words – or at least that's what she had learned.

She watched the back of the limo as it drove back out the gate, joining the procession of near identical cars. Yui once again felt disgust with how… contrived everything was.

Of course, for an Uchiha that had grown up in the Hidden Countries, outcast by her clan because of her unnatural aptitude for their bloodline but coming from an outer-branch family, the procession was pitiful. To think that humanity in the upper-echelons were as twisted as this was… disturbing. Or at least she _thought_ that was the word for it. Maybe 'horrifying', 'insulting' or 'perverse' were better descriptors.

She gritted her teeth and exerted a little more effort at keeping her expression impassive. She wondered to herself again just _why_ she had chosen the business tycoon Nakamura Susumu to adopt her under the use of a B-Ranked genjutsu aided by _sharingan_ that day. Had she known he could be so… impulsive without giving her a chance to hypnotise him to change his mind, well… meh, it was too much effort anyway.

Her life had been a hard one, filled with disappointments, heartache and all those other fun things that she'd rather avoid thinking of. She was exiled to a civilian village at the age of four for activating the famed sharingan dojutsu her family was so famed for, with an elderly clan member who had never activated his own bloodline as a guardian.

Against the orders of Fugaku, the clan head, Jun had instructed her in the ninja arts, training and improving her control over sharingan through second-hand knowledge and copied jutsu scrolls combine with hard real-life lessons of weeks at a time spent on the streets, fighting to survive and learning to flourish under her own power. It had been tough – she'd _hated_ him every second of it, kicked and screamed and _fought_ – but, with the perfect vision granted by hindsight, she knew she'd never trade those experiences for anything in the world.

Those very lessons had allowed her to survive after his death – in his sleep, old-age claiming him like she'd screamed and shrieked it would – only to find herself alone. She had, against Jun's teaching, headed straight for Konoha and the clan – thinking that now she was a few years older than when Itachi, the 'official' clan genius, had activated his dojutsu they'd accept her back in since Jun had passed on.

On the road back, she discovered the fate of her clan – massacre, by way of that very same genius that they were all so proud of – Itachi. She had laughed. The irony had just killed her – especially since, had she _not_ been exiled all those years ago, she would likely have joined them in their fate.

It was the threat of what Itachi may do if he were to discover that a third Uchiha had survived that had successfully knocked her out of the confusing haze of emotions caused by Jun's death and made her pause before beginning to think _logically_ again – like the ninja Jun trained her to be.

Another starting for an Ouran story:

"_You'll enjoy school, honey!' _She said. _'It won't be much different from England – well, aside from the language!' She_ said. This is too fuckin' _weird_." A teenager was standing at the gates to a huge palace-like place, muttering to herself all the while. It was apparent she was mocking words someone had told her.

She had a… strange expression on her face as she did so.

"This place looks more bloody crazy than Hogwarts, and that's from the _outside_." The girl muttered to herself again, looking more than a bit horrified at this thought.

One more moment spent wallowing in indecision passed with the green-eyed girl just _looking_ at the pink monstrosity called the 'Ouran High School Academy' before she slumped a little, an aggravated sigh releasing from her lips.

"This has the stench of dogfather all over it."


	6. HPOuran: Crazier the Hogwarts

**6. HP/Ouran crossover**

**=Crazier than Hogwarts=**

"_You'll enjoy school, honey!' _She said. _'It won't be much different from England – well, aside from the language!' She_ said. This is too fuckin' _weird_." A teenager was standing at the gates to a huge palace-like place, muttering to herself all the while. It was apparent she was mocking words someone had told her.

She had a… strange expression on her face as she did so.

"This place looks more bloody crazy than Hogwarts, and that's from the _outside_." The girl muttered to herself again, looking more than a bit horrified at this thought.

One more moment spent wallowing in indecision passed with the green-eyed girl just _looking_ at the pink monstrosity called the 'Ouran High School Academy' before she slumped a little, an aggravated sigh releasing from her lips.

"This has the stench of dogfather all over it."


	7. HpLotR: Fishing for Heroes

**7. HP/Lord of the Rings**

The line below this are some titles I was debating for the story, in case you were wondering. Hm, I remember having fun thinking 'em up...

– Fishing for Heroes –

If it weren't for her past experiences she believed that the dirt street, middle-ages like houses and general lost-in-time 'magical' feel she got from the general world around her would no doubt be charming, relaxing and a very pleasant place to be.

It was times like these, having just had to 'borrow' some clothing from a woman innocently doing her laundry so that she was able to blend in with the local folk (as well as she could ever 'blend in' anyway; as far as she was concerned, she had a broken blender) all the while almost stumbling over said garment; (she really _hated_ these places where woman only wore _dresses)_ that was, of course, roughly three sizes too big for her (although closer fitting than the dreaded Dudley-cast-offs) and not conducive to the art of carrying weapons inconspicuously (at least in places where you could draw them quickly at any rate), that she believed her whole existence was some kind of cosmic joke.

Well, ok; she thought that most of the time, but it seemed more prevalent at said times at which her lot was the hardest.

The sun was shining, the birds were doing their thing and apparently there had recently been a good harvest – all the villagers she had eavesdropped on (psh, have a conversation _in_ public and it was _open_ _to_ the public) had been going on about crops, rations, the local pissant bandit that had been taken down by a member of the local militia (fine, they called them 'guards' but whichever) and of course that so-and-so might be screwing around with Mrs-what's-her-name and the _poor_ _husband_ had no idea.

So really, in the village that time forgot, (or, as she was quickly and horrifyingly coming to discover, was the level of civilisation across the board in this world) there were no large, pressing issues; no reason at all for her to have been extremely rudely and unceremoniously dumped on her ass straight out of her most recent 'adventure' the second she'd been holding the only stuff she was allowed to bring with her and into a muddy, dirty alley way that stank like a rank mixture of excrement and urine (no doubt because the word 'sanitation' had not yet been coined) which pissed her off.

To top it all off she had a pounding headache – surprisingly not because of a hangover, but the effort required to constantly work her 'parseltongue' abilities in order to understand and learn the local lingo, which was very uninspiringly called 'Common' or 'Westron.'

Gods, what she would do to still have her magic– her full goddamn wave-a-stick-solve-a-problem _magic _and not just the bare dregs left over from that gift, whittled down to genetics (the parseltongue) and shifting abilities.

It was a fucking nightmare, even if she'd had to come to terms with it long before.

She was really very fortunate to have parseltongue still with her – it sure as hell helped with the whole 'getting dumped into random universes that do not speak English' thing. Only think about wanting to understand, and there it was – just like when first speaking to snakes, she'd hear it as clear as day English, speak it as clear as day whatever-the-hell they spoke, and after a time she'd need no translation from the Gift.

But in the meantime, it left THE Headache-from-Hell, hand delivered from the back of a Cerberus deprived of food and roaring for a slaughter; comparable to the pain of kids banging metal pots and pans together a few centimetres from your ear or a blacksmith working on metal the morning of your colossal hangover while your bed just happened to be within arm's length.

Under these conditions, was it really any wonder she was in a foul mood?

Fuck, these first few days were _always_ the worst – she had learned pretty quick-like that recon was the way to go as apposed to the charge-in-head-first approach so favoured by members of her old House; taking the later option could lead to misconstruing which side was in the 'right' (if there even could be a 'right' side) and thus getting royally fucked-over and locked up, experimented on for the key to your powers, and whatever else because that's what bad guys do.

Of course, sometimes the good guys had done that too, but she was in too bad a mood to wonder if that was what she was in for when she was discovered by the 'good guys' in this stupid medieval world.

She knew enough by now to not worry about not being able to find the 'battle' or the sides – hell, she usually ran into them pretty quick-like once she'd arrived, the only problem being whether it was the bad side or the good side. So just because in this merry little village that had a queer mixture of Humans, Rangers (which still counted as 'human' but apparently lived longer than normal and were also called 'Dúnedain') and Hobbits or 'Little Folk' (that actually had no use for shoes and had pointed ears along with a max height of four feet) _looked_ peaceful and unassuming didn't mean that 'Middle-earth' was peaceful or not about to descend into war – actually, she could spot the underlying tension that no one would acknowledge as if it were a purple elephant trying to hide behind a potted plant in a room full of flamingos.

Anyway, no one talked about heavy subjects like war, or anything of real interest to her in the daytime – no, the best place to get the type of information she was looking for was in a pub in the later hours of the night – the place where everyone had 'secret meetings' because the general rowdiness or drunkenness of everyone around ensured the censure of anything that may be overheard.

She really took comfort in those universal truths. It was kinda soothing, to know wherever she'd end up would have a place that you could get smashed and overhear sensitive information at the same time, both of which she felt like doing at that very moment. Although only the second option was available in the immediate future, for obvious reasons.

So she was stumbling down the dirt street in the over-sized, annoying dress while attempting to be inconspicuous. The one thing that was in her favour was that this village was apparently a common place for strangers to pass through on their way about their business, hence the reason for such a diverse group of beings, so she didn't get much more than a second glance which she suspected was the fault of her less-than-elegant gait more than anything.

The Traveller's name was self-given; she had taken on a different name from that which her birth parents had christened her, as a kind of acknowledgement of the changes in her life and that it could never go back to how it was before the End.

Her name was Phoenix. As the fire birds are reborn from the ashes of their own demise, so had she been; the woman found it somewhat fitting in an ironic way to name herself as such. She took no last name, and if the situation called for one she would pick one off the top of her head.

Phoenix, or 'Nix' as she preferred in casual conversation, was a short-statured woman, reaching just over five feet tall, with a lithe build, brilliant emerald green eyes and black hair that could only be described as a cross between 'shaggy' and 'wavy' that hung just past her shoulders. Unusual for the natives, she had two rings of metal through each earlobe, as well as a wider silver stud in the cartilage near the top of her left ear – but those were currently carefully hidden by her hair.

Nix was shaken out of her lamenting and thoughts as (surprisingly) someone bumped into _her_, almost managing to bowl her over and would have succeeded had the person not managed to steady her through quick reflexes, grabbing her shoulder.

She looked up (and up) snarling mentally at stupid tall people all the while, only to be met with a hooded man, who managed to look fairly menacing and ridiculous at the same time, both because of the fact that he was wearing a black cloak in daylight on a warm day. Seriously. Who does that?

Anyway, Mr. I'm-tall-so-I-run-into-people seemed to incline his head and said in a more cultured version of the language than she had heard so far "I am sorry, milady, I did not mean you harm."

Because he was standing in front of the sun, the hood did its job and shadowed his face, only allowing Nix to see a hint of blue eyes and that he was a traveller, easily taken from the fact that he looked like he hadn't had a decent wash in a while; what with the build up of dirt in the contours of his face and clothes.

As she had seen something similar happen earlier in the day, she made an attempt at replicating the woman's side and slightly inclined her head saying politely, "No harm done, Ranger. I should think to be more careful in the future."

Damn, didn't it suck to have to say it was partly your fault when they both knew full and well it wasn't?

It would seem that she had guessed his occupation/lineage correctly as he seemed to stare at her for a moment, scrutinising her closely with a probing gaze before inclining his head once again and setting off in a direction she recognised as towards the inns of the village.

She had a sinking feeling that she'd just met someone that would start up a new 'adventure' for her, but at least this dude seemed to be a skilled fighter and going by his speech patterns and the way he held himself, had undoubtedly been trained in some form of combat from an early age – which meant she wasn't gonna have to play the Teacher of the up-and-coming-yet-seriously-unprepared Hero again. Thank the gods! That gig was more trouble than it was worth, and she always felt like she was mentally damaging them in some way.

But dammit; she hadn't even gotten a few days to chill out and get properly settled in yet! She'd now be stuck with that thrice-damned headache while following a giant around! Screw that!

Phoenix growled to herself softly enough not to draw looks at the sound that was not compatible to a _normal_ human voice box – couldn't have that. She took a big breath in, and then let it rush out slowly, imagining all her troubles leaving with the carbon dioxide.

Of course, they were still there when she was forced to draw a new breath, so she grumbled to herself and wandered off.


	8. HpNaruto: Mission Hogwarts I

HP/Naruto crossover

**My attempt at the 'Mission Hogwarts' story (circa 2009)**

**Part the First**

Chapter One

**«×φ×»**

It was a dark, stormy night and no one was around to see the girl that strode down the street. If they had, they may have wondered just why she was there, or why the rain seemed to just roll off her, leaving her clothing and skin dry.

She looked quite strangely like she didn't have a care in the world on that dark and lonely street.

This girl was Phoenix "Nix" Potter, and she didn't much care about what her 'handlers' would say when she reached the large house that just appeared out of nowhere in front of her.

Sure, they'd probably be angry, but Nix just hadn't ever cared about what adults may think of her 'careless, irresponsible actions' because quite simply she'd seen far more than they'd ever be able to imagine.

Not that they had _any_ inkling of this… and that was just the way she liked it.

She shifted the backpack slung over her shoulder and sighed, reaching for the weirdo door handle and pausing.

'_It wouldn't do any good to keep avoiding them_' Phoenix reminded herself rather miserably. After all, they'd find her sometime or another and she was probably in deep enough shit as it was.

'_Well here goes.'_ She turned the handle and the door creaked open.

'_They didn't even bother locking it.'_

Same dark hallway, same portrait of the crazy bat that snored, same macabre house-elf head decorations, same dust and dirt. It was all the same.

There were loud voices coming from the kitchen and she sighed, shaking her head. Just how stupid were they? _Anyone_ could walk in and as her parent's murders could attest, a _fidelius_ charm was not fool proof.

Nix trooped down the stairs and looked into the kitchen, standing in the doorway. She was extremely unimpressed. They hadn't even noticed her yet!

"…She could be in a ditch somewhere, and we wouldn't know!" The hysterical Molly Weasley was saying, flinging her arms around entreatingly to the other adults in the room.

"Molly," Arthur Weasley said, a calming note in his voice, "we don't know that. There was nothing to show that she had been kidnapped from the Dursleys, and we know the Death Eaters have not taken her."

"But, but… she's only a child! She can't take care of herself! I can't _imagine _if my Ron just up and left – he'd have nothing to eat! There's _no way_ she could be ok!" If one was to look up 'to mollycoddle' in the dictionary, Nix had no doubt that it would direct you to a picture of Molly Weasley.

Another, younger female with shocking pink hair spoke up, "Er Molly? You _do_ remember that she left a note, right? It said-"

"BUT WHAT IF THE NOTE WAS A FAKE!" Molly butted in loudly, looking accusingly at the woman that only liked to go by 'Tonks'.

"Molly," this was a tired voice, "as hard as it might be to accept, Phoenix is her parent's daughter. I am sad to say that this is something I could see her parents doing, and I have never seen that girl act her proper age anyway – surely you have noticed? I just have to say we were probably lucky to find a note, and from the date she has already been gone for a month anyway." Remus Lupin ran a hand through his hair, expression equal parts amused and resigned.

There was snickering coming from the person next to Remus, and Molly turned on her eldest son, "WILLIUM ARTHUR WEASLEY! Do _not_ laugh at this! This is _not_ funny! Phoenix could be in trouble and we'd have never known it! She must have been gone for over a month now! What if she _doesn't_ show up, huh? WHAT THEN?" By now, the Weasley matriarch was beside herself. _Why_ didn't anyone seem to recognise the danger of the girl being out and alone with no one to protect her?

Tonks hid an amused smile behind her hand and pointed out "Molly, it just said she was going on vacation. It's not like she'll be in great danger."

Remus grabbed the bridge of his nose, Bill tried to smother snickers in the form of a cough and Arthur shot them a pointed look behind his newspaper that said _'it would have been better not to remind her.'_

Molly let out a strangled sound and wrung her hands together, "That girl! Arrggh! Who would go on vacation at a time like this? W-what if… you-know-who was to find her, huh? She'd be helpless!"

By this point, Nix was worrying for her safety from the Weasley Matriarch. Sure, she'd skipped out on the Dursleys (like she did every summer… hey it wasn't her fault that they didn't care where she went in her first few years, so it wasn't like the Blood Wards were still working anyway if Dumbledore's claims were to be believed) …but she left a note! Was it _her_ fault if they didn't actually watch anything other than the front door? Hell no! It's like they'd never heard of someone climbing a fence! And it's not like she'd stuck around England anyway – travelling was one of her hobbies, and when you had contact with goblins it was easy to spread a little gold around to get a passport and a few international portkeys, or the names of a few wizarding resorts.

As if she'd stick around the Dursleys after she found out she had a vault full of gold, and even more had just become available since she'd hit seventeen, meaning she had full access to the Potter Vaults.

They acted like they were expecting her to do a runner! But even if it _was_ true enough that she _didn't_ hold a particular place in her heart for England's Magical world (what with all the shit she'd taken from them she felt she was entitled to that opinion), Voldie attacked the mundane and 'muggleborn' populations and she wasn't the type of person to skip out on a battle or her friends, no matter the odds against her… not to mention that pesky little Prophesy that was a pain in the ass hanging over her head.

She cleared her throat and coughed, revelling in the gobsmacked looks from almost the whole room – Remus being the exception, as he seemed content to shake his head and sigh. It was really too bad he'd been desensitised to shock during his stint as a Marauder. "Just _who_ do you think is in a ditch?"

Nix caught Bill and Tonks snickering before she was swooped upon by a large figure and snapped up in a stranglehold.

The Weasley Matriarch had struck again.

Nix couldn't decipher the mumbled words Molly was saying between her sobs as she flailed half-heartedly, her ears ringing from the wailing the woman was also emitting.

Someone coughed, "Molly, I don't think it would be a good idea to strangle the poor girl just after she arrived."

The strong arms flinched and Nix let out a sigh of relief as they withdrew, allowing her to suck in beautiful air, "Gosh Mrs Weasley! You'd think somebody died!"

Molly seemed to twitch towards her once again, but this time Nix ducked smoothly under the arms, plonked her bag on the floor and danced over to the table, grabbing Remus up in a hug while greeting cheerfully, "Nice to see ya Moony, Tonks, Bill, Mr Weasley!"

Remus was shaking his head ruefully but hugged her back, "God Nixie, you gave the Order the shock of their life! I thought Moody was going to have an epileptic fit when he found that note on your bed when they came to pick you up last night!"

Nix released the werewolf and last link to her parents and smirked mischievously, "Cool! Ya know, I'd have thought you'd have figured it out a few weeks ago! I mean, didn't me not leaving the house or being seen at all tip you off?"

"No." Tonks added her two cents, seeming too amused to really hold any grudge for her disappearing act, "I guess we all just thought you'd emerged on another person's watch, and it's not like we were there to follow your every move – we were more there in case the Death Eaters came. Dumbledore never mentioned anything about an escape attempt, so we didn't question it."

Nix snickered at the kind-of annoyed look that passed over the woman's face. She was probably lucky that they'd only had time to worry about her for a few hours – she could only imagine (and shudder in terror) about how worked up Molly Weasley could've gotten given a few weeks.

Seems her assumption of them picking her up from the Dursleys just after her birthday was true.

Nix looked around for a moment, "Mrs Weasley, is there any food left? 'Cos I've just gotten back and I haven't had a chance to eat for a few hours." She threw the woman a puppy-dog look, widening her eyes. Molly Weasley had always been a sucker for Nix's puppy-dog look, but the woman always did enjoy forcing food upon bystanders in any case.

Molly smiled and patted her cheek affectionately, seemingly mollified, "Of course dear! Why, I can only guess what you've been eating the past month! I'll cook you up a big breakfast – it's almost time for my boys to be up and about anyway."

Nix slid into the free seat next to Tonks who was sitting on the other side of Remus, relaxing her head on the table. She hadn't been lying when she said she'd just gotten back – airports customs sucked big time, as did the 19 hour long flight over from Perth, including the stop in Singapore.

Goblin glamours that are tied to objects – in this case a thin silver ring that was hidden away in her travel bag – were the perfect answer to the problem of her being 'too young' to travel alone in the mundane world. It was definitely worth the obnoxious price spent to get the goblins to part with one – hell, they were what allowed goblins to own a mundane branch and walk among them on any day other than Halloween.

…If there was one thing that Nix had learnt, it was that goblins put a price on _everything_, which meant that if she were just willing to pay it, they'd be able to supply it… whatever _it_ was.

Everyone in the room seemed quite content to allow silence to permeate it, and Nix was frankly grateful that no one had put up much fuss about her suddenly appearing – at least not yet. It kinda surprised her really. But then maybe no one thought to tell Dumbledore that she hadn't been picked up from the Dursleys considering her note said she'd be at Grimmauld Place the next morning?

She groaned and burrowed her face into her arms further. It was too damn early in the morning to worry about consequences.

"What's that noise?" She muttered a few minutes later.

"I think that's the Running of the Teenagers."

"Don't be sarcastic, Moony."

"Don't be mean, Nix."

"Shut up, the both of you! Molly's almost finished making breakfast."

"Meany." The teenager and werewolf muttered at the pink-haired Auror, before catching each other's gaze across the woman and sharing disconsolate looks.

Arthur and his eldest son exchanged glances at the scene across the table – Tonks was now pouting at the two and Nix had hidden her face on her hands again, while Remus seemed to be staring hungrily at the plate of sausages Molly was filling.

It was to this scene that the 'stampede' of teenagers emerged, and quickly gained gobsmacked expressions at the extra person at the table. "PHOENIX!"

"Ekk! Can't… breathe… 'Mione… Ron…"

"A-heh heh ha… sorry Nix! Where were you? When did you leave? _Why_ did you leave? When did you get here? How did you get here? I can't believe you did that! You could have gotten seriously hurt!" Hermione let out a round of questions, not pausing long enough for Nix to answer any of them and all in one breath.

"Heh, don't listen to 'Mione, Nix – that was brilliant! Wish you'd taken me, though…"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Hermione rounded on the red-haired teenager and wacked him on the back of his head.

"Ow! Hermione, don't hit me!" He sported a wounded look and rubbed the back of his head.

Hermione huffed. "I _wouldn't_ hit you, if you didn't say stupid stuff!"

Nix raised an eyebrow amusedly at her friends' byplay and whispered to Tonks, "Ron's whipped."

"Hey I heard that!" Ron protested indignantly, his ears reddening.

Hermione sent him a glare and he shut his mouth, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender before sulking into a seat at the table. Nix and Tonks broke into snickers at his kicked-puppy look and the satisfaction on the bushy-haired witch's face.

"So?" Hermione turned her brown gleaming eyes on her best friend and raised an eyebrow in a no-nonsense way.

Nix lent back from her with a little 'eeep'. It was an undisputed fact that Hermione Jean Granger could be freakin' scary when in pursuit of knowledge. And interrogation of friends was, unfortunately, no exception. "Um, Hermione?"

"Yes?" The brunette was tapping her fingers impatiently against her arm.

"I can't remember all the stuff you asked me… what was the question again?"

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh and raised an eyebrow, "Phoenix Lily Potter, just what the hell have you been doing?"

Nix rolled her eyes and spoke very slowly, enunciating her words exaggeratedly, "I went on va-ca-tion. I left a _note_ telling people that I had left on vacation. I did this so that I could relax."

Everyone in the room eyed her as if she'd just broken out in song and done the Macarena. She pouted, crossing her arms and muttered petulantly "everyone likes to relax at one time or another."

"Nix?" Hermione said, her tone carefully controlled "I'm sorry, but I just have to get this out there: you are the strangest person that I know."

Phoenix, upon seeing that everyone else was inclined to agree with her 'best' friend (who was now officially a _meanie_) looked for a distraction, "Oh look – food!"

Of course since more than half of the people in the room were Weasleys, this worked beautifully.

Molly Weasley portioned out the food before leaving the rest on the table while everyone settled down to eat breakfast.

Nix couldn't help but notice the glances thrown at her over the table, but a mixture of exhaustion and petulance had her ignoring them, steadily moving through the (beautiful) food provided.

"So" Hermione said, never one for silence at any time there wasn't a book or something in need of studying around "where did you go on your vacation? Did you have a good time?"

Knowing that skipping out on them while they were so determined to 'protect' her from Voldie meant she really owed them some kind of explanation – if only because they wouldn't shut up until they got one and were _satisfied _with it – Nix decided to answer the question. "Oh, Australia – it's nice this time of year, even if it's their winter. I got you guys some souvenirs – they have a lot of tourist shops with little stuffed koalas in them that had flags!"

"You went to _Australia_… and brought us back flags." Ron deadpanned, talking around some bacon.

"Don't talk while you're eating" Hermione said, although there wasn't any real feeling behind the words as it was just an automatic reaction by now, developed from years of Hogwarts meal times.

"Yup!" Nix said, ignoring the byplay "It was nice, and Uluru was big, and Sydney was cool – the best bit was between the distance and all the ambient magic in the air, it was safe for me to use magic! And I met these Indigenous people that were really nice and showed me how to throw a boomerang (its waay harder than it looks on tv) but it was too cold to go surfing… well, at least until I used a heating charm...and the Great Ocean Road is beautiful to drive a motorcycle down… I had to buy a camera to get pictures 'cos it was such a cool view."

"I can't believe you actually did that." Hermione shook her head in wonder, and Nix smirked a little.

"Ah, I'm just awesome like that."

They were almost finished breakfast when the dulcet tones of a screaming Walburga Black blared from the hallway, announcing a new arrival.

"Stupid portrait… hey, I've gotten an idea about how to shut her up… d'you recon I could try it?" She turned puppy-dog eyes on the adult she considered in the best position to give her an answer, which was Remus.

Remus eyed her and felt a little afraid of that glint in her eyes, but that didn't stop him from saying, "_Definitely_. We've tried _everything_ to get her down but _nothing_ works. I don't know what you're going to try, but I'm willing to let you have a go at it."

It seemed this was echoed by all those in the room (as they butted in forcefully with their opinions) and Nix smirked. She felt she'd figured out a way to do it, and she'd even brought the tools to do it with.

"Ok, well I'll just -"

"You will _not_ get out of this, Potter." A sneering voice came from the stairs.

Nix scowled and glanced over to see their grease-ball of a potions teacher and greeted shortly, "Snape."

The white-haired eccentric wizard in sparkly robes apparently decided to ignore their tones and said jovially, "It is good to see you my girl; you gave us quite a scare."

Nix scowled at the 'my girl' bit – _no one_ liked being called 'my' anything by people not related to you. It seemed as though Dumbledore _did_ know that the Order had failed to pick her up yesterday. "Heya Albie" Nix greeted sarcastically.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he didn't seem the least bit perturbed by her jab at names, much to her dismay. "It is good to see you well."

Nix ignored the questioning tone and said, "I very much like to see myself well as well!"

"Potter your imbecilic 'vacation' could have very well gotten you killed, and _then_ what would happen to us? That you would take such a risk while the Dark Lord is around only shows just how juvenile you are." The biting voice cut in.

Nix glared at Snape, not in the least bit impressed with his form of intimidation – after all, she'd encountered worse in _that_ place. 'Albie' seemed to be looking to reproach Snape gently but Nix cut across him, "Heh, there never was any risk at all! After all, I didn't even _hear_ about Death Eaters or Voldiemold the entire time! Heck, _you_ _guys_ didn't even know I was gone till ya got my note! No harm done, and I got a chance to live a little." She met Dumbledore's eyes very obviously when she said 'live' a little, and was inwardly smug to see his eyes dim – she wasn't above manipulation to have her holiday unquestioned.

There was no way on earth she'd tell them she hadn't spent more than a week's time at the Dursleys since she turned six and _that_ had happened. She'd covered her tracks well and they didn't even _suspect_ anything other than what they saw – after all, they were _wizards_ and they had _magic_ and she had just been a very little girl, incapable of keeping large secrets much less _have_ them.

But it was a bad idea to think about those things while two legilimens were in the room even _if_ she was capable of one of the more obscure forms of occlumency – that was inviting trouble.

Dumbledore was looking very sad – _'and he _should_ be,' _a part of her mind whispered, _'he was the one who gave you a death sentence in the form of a Prophesy'_ – and he seemed willing to drop the question of _why_ she took a 'vacation' without 'approval' (although _legally_ they really had no right to demand she come to him for _approval_ in the first place) and said, "Severus, Miss Potter is correct. There was indeed no harm for her vacation, and in any case the wards around the Dursley residence collapsed when she reached her Majority."

Nix kept the triumph off her face and instead nodded her head. Albus wasn't a bad person, but she'd always been on guard around him – which it turned out was a good thing, since he'd been forging a 'tool' to defeat Voldemort by his own admission. This was one tool that he didn't know the abilities of however, and that was something she kept to herself.

"There was another reason that I visited here, however." Dumbledore announced, only now looking at the other people gathered around the breakfast table. "Hogwarts will be host to an… event this year, and with the guests and the possibility of an attack from Voldemort, I am hiring some professional guards that are unique to the 'Hidden Counties', which I believe are very literally hidden by magic in a pocket dimension… I do believe you learnt about this in History of Magic, yes Miss Granger?" He smiled at the excited gleam in Hermione's eyes at the prospect of meeting people from a hidden magical community. "I have just come to warn you prematurely as we will be hosting them here at Headquarters before Hogwarts reopens for the school year. They will be arriving sometime in the next few days, and I ask you to treat them as guests."

"Won't you be here to introduce them?" Remus asked, a thoughtful frown creasing his features.

"Yes, my dear boy." Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye. "But I do believe you will need time to ready some rooms for them – there should be eight of them coming. Now, I do believe I must talk to only Order members, so children if you wouldn't mind…"

"But we're seventeen!" Ron burst out indignantly.

Molly clucked at him, "Ronald! As long as you are in school, I absolutely _refuse_ to allow you to join the Order of the Phoenix! You are still my child, and I do not wish to get you into adult business! Now go – _you too_, Ginevra Molly Weasley!"

The two youngest Weasleys trailed out grumbling, Hermione following after them. Nix yawned and stretched as she stood up from the table before collecting her backpack and moving out of the room, past a sneering Snape and out into the hallway.

The door slammed behind her and she paused, pulling a compact mirror out of her pocket. The others had already scaled the stairs, so she tapped a design on the back of it, causing the little thing to glow softly and an image slipped onto the screen.

Magic was awesome, and the mirror that she'd left in the kitchen made it easy for her to overhear what was going on in the room. It was just unfortunate she hadn't opened Sirius' gift until it was too late – they really were an ingenious invention.

… "A primary goal of our new guards will be to guard Phoenix Potter. I fear because of recent events that it is necessary to protect her against taking such rash actions again."

"Potter has always been rash, and I don't believe these 'guards' of yours will be capable of saving her from herself"…

Nix scowled and snapped the mirror shut, sliding it back into the pockets of her jeans. So Albie was hiring ninja specifically to guard her, was he? Well, at least the next year was promising to be fun… she'd heard that the Triwizard negotiations had finally come through, so that was most likely the 'event' Dumbledore was referring to.

Nix was thoughtful as she dutifully climbed the stairs, not particularly interested in whatever else the adults might say… she'd have to be even more vigilant with her secret with shinobi following her every move.

**«×φ×»**


	9. HP AU: A Vampire's Life for Me

9

**Harry Potter AU- Vampire's life for me **

_Dark Night_

_Silence _

_Too Silent/ Too Dark/ only one Alive/ ALONE_

_Harsh Breathing, footsteps – slap of pavement_

_Empty World! What was that? Car light, illuminating footpath as it passes by_

_Not Alone. But feels like it; all-encompassing; pervading darkness of night_

_Pressing, suffocating/ Eyes watching?_

_Gasping for breath; speeding up – if I can make it _just _that little bit further…_

_FEAR/ AFRAID/ Movements on heels/ HUNTED_

_AM Prey/ Escape/ RUN_

_Crack, steps, noise_

_No Escape_

_Hands- like steel; unyielding, strong, ice cold; inhuman_

_Arm hurting, bones creaking under pressure/ pain_

_Pain/ PAIN/ PAIN/ PAIN/ PAIN/ pain_

A groan of phantom pain escaped her lips in the abrupt tip back to complete consciousness and awareness.

The woman stayed still for a few moments, grimacing and unable to halt one hand moving to rub the back of her neck, which was just as she remembered; smooth, unbroken skin, although it had the look of scar tissue, more specifically a bite.

She snarled at herself then – was she some stupid fledgling? How was it that, just when she thought that _that_ memory had been delt with, it popped up again, taunting her with the question of _might have been_.

Which was just plain _stupid_.

Really, she was quite happy with how everything _after_ that point had turned out; to change such a point in her history would be to remove something essential to herself; her _identity_; _who_ she was.

Really, that Event had been one she defined herself on; the one shattering event that had dictated by how she acted and related to everything after the Event.

To the uninformed, the question would be 'just what Event could be so essential, so vital and central to herself that it could change her views of the world?'

Of course, they would not think the Event could be the Change. Or at least the Event and the change were interlinked; one would not have been possible without the other, as she would have been rotting and buried far deeper than six feet at this very moment in time if either had not occurred.

The woman's nose wrinkled and she scowled. Whenever that particular memory surfaced once again, it was foreshadowing future events that would irrevocably change her life – or not-life, as the case may be – yet again.

It was time to pack up. She had stayed where she was for long enough, in either case.

The woman stretched sinuously, rather like a cat; lithe limbs moving and flexing, rolling her neck and moving her shoulders to loosen up, before carefully extricating herself from the bed.

She glanced down at the male in the bed that she had exited fondly, smirking a little as her mind wandered for a moment to their… activities over the night before and on and off for the last few years.

The hint of a pearly white fang glinted in the early morning sun.

(Plan: the only possession that she couldn't bear to lose would be the ancient book, leather bound and magically as many pages as was needed (thousands upon thousands already taken up) that she always has on her person (literally! *Cough tattoo cough*) and it is her writings on what she has done, recordings of different civilisations (each written in the native language and spelled against translation charms) and all tracked through from the first year that she appeared in; lesser a track of her thoughts and musing, along with magic and knowledge. She didn't know the date until the recognisable calendar was invented, but she could find the approximate date and month as they would be through the stars (pretty much the limit of her knowledge of star use, apart from as directions) which was then corrected later in time.)

She owns a few pockets of copied and removed land that she created at strategic places over the world in the early years, although never really bothered about getting any more – she even learnt the trades so she could build her own small houses on them.


	10. HP AU: Ditching the 'Verse

NOTE TO ALL WHO GO HERE ON 11/12/2012 – I AM JUST REARRANGING THE STORIES SO THERE IS ONLY ONE A CHAPTER, TO MAKE FOR EASE OF FINDING CERTAIN PARTS.

10. fem**Harry Potter AU– Ditching the Verse'**

Chapter 1

●**o×o●**

"And you are _absolutely_ sure you want to do this?" Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire questioned doubtfully, obviously questioning the er… sanity of her best friend.

The long and short of it was that Hermione thought that her friend had finally gone off the deep end.

She pursed her lips, watching as the other girl flittered around the room while throwing seemingly random objects into a small dufflebag. Of course, with all the magic _she_ had gone to the trouble of enchanting that bag with (and pounding the knowledge into her friend's noggin) appearances were deceiving, as was displayed when her friend shoved a folded up tent into it. Expansion charms and lightweight charms were definitely the most useful when aiming to travel.

"Miaaa~" came the strangely chipper voice of her friend from across the room. Hermione inwardly shuddered. Her friend was almost _never_ 'chipper', and describing her as such came hand-in-hand with her aforementioned friend's homicidal side. The _chipper_ voice just ploughed on "Of _course_ I'm sure! This will be _awesome_! I mean, it's just gotten so _boring_ around here –"

"If you think having half the Ministry after you counts as 'boring' I just don't know how I was deceiving myself into thinking you still had a few screws in the proper place to begin with" Hermione muttered petulantly under her breath.

Ignoring her friend's byplay completely, "– so this will be a chance to put spice into my life, experience 'the great beyond'; find a life for myself away from the Ministry and all that poly-tic shit!"

"Politics, Phoenix; its _politics_. NOT poly-tics, no matter how many times you contend that all politicians catch some kind of virus that leads them inevitably to the 'dark side' when they take it up."

"Lucius Towel-boy was a politician." Phoenix pointed out in a voice that said clearly that the case was closed.

"Malfoy, Nixie, _Malfoy_. And I'm pretty sure that he tortured puppies as a child; being a politician was secondary." Hermione sighed. This was the latest of a seemingly endless line of similar conversations that she'd had with her black-haired, green-eyed friend.

Phoenix Potter raised a brow at her friend and rolled her eyes before focusing back on pulling up a few loose floorboards for any scattered possessions that she may have failed to collect, and Hermione took the moment to examine her friend.

Phoenix was short, barely reaching 5 feet tall – most people in their year towered over her; even those younger than her (which Hermione knew to be something of a sore spot for her friend). Even so, her body was lithe and toned and all of her movements carried a deadly feline grace – which Hermione knew to be borrowed from her animagus form. Her hair was a blue-black shade and a perpetual cross between wavy and shaggy, reaching just past her shoulder blades. Blazing emerald eyes drew attention to her aristocratic features.

Hermione had gotten a call from Nix early that very morning (yes, an honest-to-god _phone_ call; she had wondered if the shorter girl even knew _how_ to operate a phone before then) and her friend had vaguely said something about a 'trip' and if Hermione wanted to be there to send her off.

Like everything related to Nix, Hermione had gathered up the absolute necessary items before getting to her friend's location – the Dursley's house on Private Drive – as soon as humanly possible. Considering the _last_ time Nix had contacted her out of the blue like that she had been covered in blood and trying to convince the Aurors that she really had only killed the Death Eaters that had attempted to kill her first and that she hadn't used some new and extremely Dark spell to make their heads explode (really, Hermione still wondered just _where_ her friend had gotten that many muggle weapons, let alone found the time to enchant them and learn how to use daggers like _that_, her expertise having been displayed while… _convincing_ the Aurors to make Vows of Silence on the matter). Anyway, Hermione had managed to repress that particular occasion, but it still didn't stop a number of possible scenarios running through her head – Nix could have finally snapped and killed her relatives, some left-over DE out for revenge may have turned up, triggering a repeat performance of the Dark Side's Defeat (as it was labelled in the Daily Prophet, coupled with words such as 'Confusing', 'Nauseating', 'Lack of Suspects' and 'Maybe a New Dark Lord was Removing the Competition?').

As such, Hermione was understandably puzzled upon arriving only to find an immaculate house with a decided lack of blood and/or police/auror presence that usually indicated a Potter Problem.

That she had been cheerily informed that the Dursleys had taken a spur-of-the-moment vacation (and she _hadn't_ missed the telling glint in her friend's eyes that indicated the 'vacation' had likely _not_ been their idea, thank you) before promptly being dragged _into_ the house and simultaneously filled-in on Nix's latest crackbrained scheme.

_This_ one involved dimensional travel. And nothing Hermione could say was going to convince her stubborn friend that just up and going would be a _bad_ idea.

"If only I had bet she'd last another week – stupid Weasley twins, they've got the luck of the devil when it comes to betting" the brunette muttered to herself under her breath. At Nix's yelled "What was that?" she hastily replied that she hadn't said anything.

The bet that Nix would drop off the face of the Earth (involving when/how/why logistics, as no one had any doubt that the '_if'_ angle was out of the question) was the one in which winning would get you more money than all the rest grouped together. And with what Hermione was hearing from her short-on-sanity friend, Forge and Gred seemed to have come out on top.

Hermione caught her friend hiding away a few daggers in her clothing as well as one of those enchanted guns before she suddenly turned with a flourish and pounced on the hassled girl.

"Erk!" Hermione just managed to avoid a collision with the floor and patted her friend's back.

"You ready to go?" She asked weakly.

Phoenix pulled back to look Hermione in the eyes and smile, a hand going up to sneakily wipe the gathering tear from a corner of her eye "Thanks, 'Mione. For being such a great friend, that is."

Hermione smiled softly back – what else could she do but say goodbye? She had frankly seen her friend's departure coming from long off, but had never imagined it to be quite so… final. Sure, moving to America maybe, but another dimension? "Be well, Nixie."

There were a lot of things that went unspoken, lying beneath the rather simple words. They were both aware of them, but some things were beyond vocalisation.

Hermione took a shaky breath in and stepped away and out of the circle that had been painted on the Dursley's kitchen floor (as far as she could see, Nix had evidently stuck the table to the ceiling – obviously beyond caring about whatever choice words her relatives might have on the matter).

Phoenix Potter moved to the middle of the circle and closed her eyes.

Hermione could feel the gathering of energy, the _shift_ of magic in the air as Nix's power was freed and brought to the surface. It stirred and whirled around, becoming a visible golden glow surrounding Phoenix as she girl's brow furrowed in intense concentration, her arms lifting in front of her, palms together.

Suddenly the power _pushed_ down on the air around her, and the emerald eyes snapped open, and Nix's voice was brimming and bubbling with pure _power_ as she enchanted **"Eo trans dimensions quo ego sum necessarius!"**

A blinding flash of light forced Hermione to shield her eyes against it, and she snapped them open as the light disappeared as quickly as it had materialized.

She squinted her eyes, trying to ignore the dots dancing across her vision.

The room was empty of Potters.

A banging on the door indicated that she had a lot of explaining to do for the auror squad that no doubt had been dispatched to search out the insane concentration of magic.

Hermione bit her lip, staring almost blankly at the spot that had held her first and best friend.

The sound of footsteps from the hall indicated that aurors had unlocked the door and charged the place.

"HANDS IN THE AIR! YOU ARE WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ON THE MISUSE OF MAGIC AND POSSIBLE USE OF A Z-CLASS RESTRICTED SPELL! DON'T MAKE ANY SUDDEN MOVEMENTS!"

Hermione spun around, throwing her hands in the air.

It was just like Phoenix to ditch out and leave her to the aurors.

Second generation Marauder indeed. Hermione had quite a few choice curses that she'd never have the chance to try on her friend now.

And if she was a little teary, well, no one could blame her.

●**o×o●**

Note: Clearly, this drabble references nonjon's 'A Black Comedy'- check it out, it's bloody hilarious.


	11. Gundam Wing: The Female Pilot

**11. Gundam Wing story – 6****th**** female pilot**

**WARNING – THIS DRABBLE IS DEFINITELY M RATED!**

THE START

Phoenix Harris, the sole female Gundam pilot, grumbled to herself as she made her way through the street, clutching bags of groceries on both arms. What the hell did they think she was?

A _pack mule_? Or even worse - _a house wife?_

Oh fuck no.

She didn't _do_ domestics – hell, she could burn food by _looking _at it, forget getting within a few metres of a freakin stove!

She was definitely the most cooking impaired of the six of them – kitchens trembled in horror when faced with her atrocious cooking abilities!

And besides, it's not like _they_ couldn't have gone shopping _themselves_. 'Oh, Nix, would you mind going to the supermarket and getting the stuff on the list?'

_Yes_ she would mind!

But she had just nodded, (against her better judgement) grabbed the list and went out the front door.

It had nothing to do with the fact that the others were probably taking advantage of her absence and keeping each other… occupied.

Nor that Quatre and Trowa were no doubt doing multiple acts that she _certainly_ didn't find intriguing (and incredibly hot) to each other at this very moment, causing that ugly green-eyed alien to surface and whisper things about how it would be if _she_ were to find 'the right guy' like they apparently had.

She had learnt that love was an extremely strange thing the day after she had the misfortune of hearing extremely loud and visceral sounds coming from Heero's room, only to find Heero, Duo _and_ Wufei coming out of it in the morning. Sure, she enjoyed imagining it – hell, she certainly _heard enough_ about it to get a pretty accurate idea of what went on – but she never found herself jealous when she saw those three together. It really confused her that the idea of Trowa and Quatre together always managed to make her feel jealous, and a little… _hurt_.

Not that she'd ever admit it under unspeakable torture or interrogation, ever.

Of course, Quatre's 'Space Heart' had seemed to clue the blonde in that she had been slightly off lately (much to her chagrin) and she'd had to spend ages dodging questions along the vein of 'what is wrong with you?'

If she were to examine her feelings (something she was not in the habit of doing, although it had been something she had been forced into as of late) she might admit that she yearned to feel a part of what her fellow gundam pilots had managed to find – love, and unconditional at that.

She'd had to be strong, to prove she was the best and _better_ than the best, just to be accepted in their rather testosterone-filled group, but she'd managed it. Even if she'd had to set Fei's hair on fire more than a few times in the process.

Sexist pig. Heh, she showed him.

Although she had a feeling that that side of her, the side that had only been enhanced through use of the ZERO system, was what had the boys afraid of stepping out of line with her.

She smirked to herself while brushing a stray strand of fire-red hair out of golden eyes. It had been… _fun_ to re-educate them on just how well a trained woman could kick their ass.

Although she had to admit that if she weren't so lazy all the time they may have figured that out _before_ her slow-burning temper had blown its top and unleashed her fury.

She had a few… issues with temper, and laziness, and how she could go for months just hoarding all the mean comments and black feelings inside before she inevitably snapped at the unlucky person that just happened to say something at the wrong time, causing her to explode.

Or try to explode them, more like.

She ran a hand through her hair, which was a cross between wavy and shaggy at roughly shoulder-length. Well, she didn't _feel_ as if she had any built-up resentment at this moment (although she usually didn't really know until she snapped) because as far as she was concerned; the world was a great place to be.

They had ended the war a few months ago, her fellow pilots had found love (with each other, but she felt it was miracle enough they still had the capacity to care which sex it was with) and they were living together, smooching off Quatre in one of his smaller safe-houses, _without_ staff or the Maguanacs around.

And though there was that little hole in her heart, she still smiled and laughed and joked, just like before. She always had – it was who she was, and she thought it worked just fine for her.

She stuffed the key in the lock, turned it and kicked the door open while juggling the bags of groceries.

"WHO THE FUCK DECIDED TO SEND ME TO THE SUPERMARKET TO GET CONDOMS?"

And she was going to get revenge.

THE SECOND

Gundam pilots one through five were lounging around their living room, idly watching tv, although none of them were really interested in it.

"Have you noticed…"

"That Nix seems to be off lately? Yes, Duo, I think it's hard _not_ to notice." Quatre spoke, calling the attention of the others to something he'd been worrying about for a while.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Trowa put in quietly, "She does not seem to be herself. She has been distancing herself lately – I have noticed she seems to always be out of the house."

"That's not right!" Duo spoke, aghast. "She can't do that, she's always the one who says we should be together! She always helps us when something like this happens…"

"I don't think she's doing it consciously." Quatre offered, leaning into Trowa.

"Harris hasn't done anything lately." Wufei added his two cents in.

"Yeah." Duo said in consternation, "She didn't even wanna help me dye your hair pink, Wuffers."

"MAXWELL!"

Duo blinked innocently and tapped Wufei's cheek, "Heh, no need ta get all huffy, Wuffers! It didn't happen, did it?"

Wufei narrowed his eyes but settled on, "Don't call me 'Wuffers', Maxwell."


	12. HpXmen: Infinity

**HP/X-men crossover**

**Infinity**

Ororo Munro was relaxing over the technology at her fingertips, not really worried as she performed the routine task of monitoring the machines that were made to monitor mutant activity all over the world.

The machines had nothing on their own Professor Xavier, nor some of the other mutants that had the ability to gauge almost exact levels of power that each separate mutant displayed, but it worked as a blanket monitoring device that was able to be constantly active without the drawbacks that affected those who needed to sleep to regain energy.

Of course, it also helped warn them of emerging talents, letting them get the general area that they needed to look for in order to help the teenagers with newly activated and unstable abilities.

The machines hummed softly, a bizarrely soothing sound as she leant back in her chair and flipped through a report from one of the latest x-men missions.

And then, as all things inevitably do, the peace ended. Rather violently, too.

It started as a whining – just beyond audible, but quickly raising, reaching a crescendo that had Storm clapping her hands over her ears and wincing, eardrums pounding and flinching away from the noise.

She stumbled towards the device, looking for a way to shut off or fix whatever was causing the machine to so suddenly malfunction so spectacularly, but when she reached the electronic map of crisscrossing sensors, all thoughts of perhaps shutting off all electricity in the room fled her thoughts.

Ororo hardly noticed others bursting into the room, looking around wildly for the source of such commotion – she hardly noticed that the ear-shattering noise had suddenly stopped – her gaze was fixed on the locator screen.

It was acting as it never had before. Before, you could see brief flares at random times, never showing up as more than a dot, perhaps the largest the size of the tip of her pinkie finger – it was a large world, after all.

But what was building on the map had been anything but regular, or normal, or anything else analogous to routine.

Oh, she could guess that it had – what had started as a dot had grown, blowing quickly out of proportion and seemingly flaring out, growing outwards in a display that reminded her of a cyclone; showing up as a brilliant red on the scanners.

It had started somewhere in Europe – she had been quick enough to see that – but the power was growing outwards, reaching, washing over everything.

She did not feel the others looking over her shoulder, wide-eyed as they too observed the flaring and impossible power that was quickly consuming and blanketing the electronic map.

They didn't even have the time to worry as the power reached out to America, moving and writhing as it crept further and further out from its origin.

As the flaring power reached their location, all those in the room – and, unknown to them, the school and further – shuddered as an alien _presence_ was felt to seemingly glance, and then pass on, as if doing a cursory check.

They could still feel the power, even as they watched the screen show that the power was now, impossibly, covering the whole world.

And then, mere seconds after the whirling vortex of power had erupted, the screen mapping it out went back to normal as the flaring power suddenly disappeared. There was nothing left, and only mere seconds had passed as that sheer presence had touched them. The air around them seemed heavy; heavy with the silence of the absence of the… well, whatever it was.

And then the feeling was gone; as suddenly as it had came and crashed through, it left and everything was normal.

Storm immediately noticed that there were other people in the room, and she glanced around to see reflections of what she imagined herself to look like at that moment – a strange mix of shock, awe, and something else unexplainable.

It was Logan that summed up their thoughts, a strange expression on his features; "Well shit."

»•ΰ•«

At that moment of time, there was someone who really had no idea of the outright panic and shock that they had caused; and had they known, probably wouldn't have given a damn either.

A woman, appearing to be in her early twenties, was grumbling under her breath as she pulled herself up from the ground, brushing dirt off the seat of her pants as she did so.

Her nose crinkled as she smelled a mix of urine, puke and garbage around her, and she cast a glance around to see that this unhappy smell was because she had managed to land in an alleyway behind a group of shops that would definitely be called shady by regular citizens.

The woman scowled and grumbled, not hesitating to pick a direction that she hoped was the exit and walk in that way, mentally congratulating herself as she appeared on a street that didn't smell bad. She immediately stepped out into the crowds of people, blending into the general chaos so as to not garner a second glance and walking confidently, as if she had not just popped out of thin air and walked out of a disgusting smelling alleyway.

Her clothing didn't draw much attention – she wore jeans, slightly old with a few fashionable rips in them, although they hadn't been there when she purchased them, as well as a well-loved leather jacket coupled with a t-shirt underneath – certainly not what anyone would call the height of fashion.

But this woman had long since abandoned bothering about such petty things as appearance, social standing; hell, even self-consciousness and others perceptions of her. Really, you live long enough and you come to forget to care about that kind of shit, so no worries there.

Hell, spend a few years as an oracle in which you have to wear lofty robes and float about, proclaiming which peoples were going to win and having people wait on you every day; commonly emulating what you remember of the unique Luna Lovegood just to screw with them and get your kicks, and silly things like 'shame' goes out the window. Of course, in this case 'a few years' is relative – it must have been close to an even two hundred, or something – they just kinda flow together after all she's been through.

But that was what she did – ever since it became apparent that she wouldn't die, she joined a very restricted club called Dimension Hoppers Anonymous (DHA) that was restricted in that as far as she knew, she was the only member. Well, there were other versions of herself involved – sometimes they crossed wires and ended up in the same world, and proceeded to join different sides of whatever conflict that world was involved in just for kicks and the excitement of not knowing if your side was gonna win or not, which was good after all these years.

How could this happen? Any normal person would ask. Another logical question would be just how old the woman striding down the street actually was. Well, the first was that her animagus was a phoenix, and apparently there was more to the phoenix's immortality than first meets the eye. They die, they are reborn. It's as simple as that. But when the world they are on dies, they skip on over to the next one.

Yeah, not many people know that little nugget of information, probably because not many people think of the apocalypse as anything more than an abstract theory, and even then they never think that they'd actually be alive and have to bother about their imminent doom.

And really, she was one of them, once upon a time.

She'd waited around on her original world, watching through the ages as things rose and fell, her own time becoming a legend and myth, waiting for the ever-more-likely moment that the world would go boom as it started to show its age and deterioration from its former glory. Well, that day had come; there had been a dull red sun and suddenly they had found the Earth superheating. She'd smiled that day – after so many years of staying the same as everything around her evolved, and retaining so precious few things as constants in her life, she was looking forward to dying.

Well, whatever 'higher beings' had started life, had fucked up that plan. Her powers had gone mad without her permission, and spiralled out of control. She had flashed off that world, and ended up in some kind of 'inter dimensional locker room' with a few versions of herself lounging around. They'd given her a short explanation that amounted to 'you can't die, enjoy fucking with whatever dimension you want to, but don't piss off anybody more powerful than you are – that can be troublesome.'

Well, at least they had held her own view on unnecessary words.

Next thing she knew, she'd been dumped on a world that was primarily occupied by house elves and had to figure out just what the hell she was doing.

Yeah, that was definitely one of the weirdest worlds she'd found – especially when she met the Voldemort version of house elves, threatening to leave mess everywhere.

After that, she'd blackmailed one of the others into teaching her how to pick worlds that were more aligned with her original.

Since then, she'd inhabited many different worlds, of so many different cultures and backgrounds that her head spun whenever she took the time to fix up the catacombs of her mind.

But at least she never got bored – none of them did, what with all the messes that they got themselves involved with – they met many different people, of many different temperaments and many different backgrounds, and they pretended to be many different people with many different temperaments. That was how they added spice to life – in one world, you be the evil bitch, in another you're the epitome of intelligence and fairness, and in the one after that you're the craziest person they'll ever meet.

She'd had many names, many more occupations and learnt many more trades and knowledge – magics, electronics, mechanics, woodwork, crafting, weapons, combat, cooking, healing, languages… the list went on and on. There really was a limitless potential for learning to pass the time.

The name that she'd chosen for this world was Raven Bennett – she'd used it in a few worlds, and combinations of it, so she was as happy with this as any other. This contrived name was more her name than her first – they all kept their first names to themselves, never re-using them after that first life.

Her first name, the name that she was born with all those lives and years ago, was kind of fuzzy, even if she had cemented and made sure that she would never lose her own origins, her first life. That name was Aiden Potter, daughter of Lily and James Potter, saviour and darling of the Wizarding World. But that was just logistics; all those who she had known were long and dead, their dust spread to the winds and their world collapsed.

It was interesting that she would run into people all the time that would remind her of those first friends, but then she had quickly realised that events and situations liked to repeat themselves on the different worlds.

But then, she would have been more concerned if she hadn't spotted resemblances from her past – she'd about seen and done it all.

And when she'd aimed for this dimension, it was because of the interesting situation developing on it. Or at least the capacity for there to be such a situation.

She liked to go in blind, so to speak, and just out of habit landed somewhere near England, which she had quickly found that it was actually named England – good, last time it had been a smoking crater when she'd shown up, and she'd accidentally blasted this person whose laugh was grating her headache, which had somehow ended up as her being worshipped as a Goddess by the people left over, because apparently this person had just managed world domination or something and she'd been unfortunate enough to blow him up without feeling out the local happenings.

An accident that had led to her going bat-shit crazy and wiping out the lot of them, then giving the planet to the centaurs cos they were the least annoying at the time.

Yes, she'd done a lot of crazy shit.

And stumbled across a lot of crazy shit.

But she was more than used to that, so she was using this world that she could tell was at least close to her first (enough for the mundanes to call London London, at least) to chill out. She could also tell that there were no pesky 'all-powerful' higher beings on this planet. Good. The last time that happened, she'd made them cry.

It was an inconvenience that whenever she slipped into a new dimension, her magic automatically spread out around it to check out the locals, so to speak, and she hoped that they didn't have any way of tracking that little power surge – it could be annoying. She knew all about people who would be pretentious enough to see that and come running, probably with the motive of locking her up and experimenting on her, or getting her to join their evil cult for 'glory and honour' or some other shit. Heh, a few times she'd taken up the baddies, only to be bored out of her mind sitting around and listing to some megalomaniac ranting about their own awesomeness and eternal power – in the long run, she'd seen they all got bored if they managed it for longer than how long it took for people to cut them down.

Haunting green eyes gazed at the street sign to Charing Cross road, and she ambled her way into the station. She rested her hand on the wall between platform 9 and 10, and although she wasn't really expecting anything, sighed as she confirmed that there was nothing strange about it. After all, she knew already that this world didn't have the same brand of magic that was on her first world.

Raven shrugged and took a moment to locate the highest concentration of magic. Hmm, it was across the pond in America – all the better. A simple eye-averting spell later, and she silently disappeared from the station.

Raven landed in the middle of New York City – if you were going somewhere, it may as well be big. She didn't look out of place even here, and slipped into the night-time crowds, heading towards a place where she could crash.

»•ΰ•«

"Does anyone have any idea just what that was?" It was a valid question, one that had sparked the argument that had degraded an adult 'very fast' conversation.


	13. HpNaruto: Mission Hogwarts II

13. Mission Hogwarts Part the Second:

Chapter Two

**«×φ×»**

_Konohagakure no Sato, Hokage Tower_

"You have all been hired for a very unique mission." Senju Tsunade, Godaime Hokage informed the eight members of her shinobi force arranged in front of her.

"How is it unique?" A loud voice cut in.

A dark-haired boy that is slouching against the wall responds before his Hokage can retort, "_Mendokusei_. Naruto, it's pretty obvious that this is unique because there are enough people for two four-man teams working on it, and that's just _before_ Hokage-sama has outlined the mission."

Uzumaki Naruto, Gama-sennin and jounin of Konoha, crossed his arms and scowled at his fellow year-mate and jounin and muttered something about never taking 'normal' missions in the first place so how was he supposed to know what that was?

Tsunade glared at them, "_If you are finished_." It wasn't a question. "I am assigning you; Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, Hatake Kakashi, Nara Shikamaru, Inuzuka Kiba, Hyuuga Hinata and Hyuuga Neji, to a security mission on the Outside, which automatically classifies the mission as S-Rank. The Outside, as you know, refers to the lands outside the Hidden Countries, and the client is an old wizard named Dumbledore Albus. He is here to explain the nuances of this mission to you. Let him in!" The last was directed to the chunin outside her office.

The shinobi in the room straightened up to look more professional as their client entered. 'Wizards' were a part of the curriculum at the academy; after all, the ability to use 'magic' was a Blood Limit, and even if it wasn't at all common in the Hidden Countries, shinobi were by definition prepared for any situation – they had all been taught the best strategies of how to attack and defend against them, just like how Konoha still taught the best ways to fend off Iwa and Kumo nin.

This _very old_ man looked like a stereotypical wizard – white hair and beard, dressed in robes reminiscent to the official Hokage robes that Tsunade avoided wearing at all times but official ceremonies, and they could all feel that strange _twist_ to his chakra that they could, via description, conclude was the 'magic'. His chakra was the equivalent to kage-level, which put them all on edge.

"Good morning, and just let me sincerely say that it is nice to meet such fine and upstanding shinobi such as yourselves, and that I am immensely grateful that you are willing to possibly accept this mission. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The old wizard's eyes twinkled at them, and Naruto shifted his weight slightly, uncomfortably reminded of the Sandaime's eyes when he was caught doing something embarrassing in his childhood.

"I have requested this mission because Hogwarts is going to be host for a group of students from two other top-ranked magical schools of England for the year, and England is right now in a state of civil war."

The shinobi seemed to become more alert at this news – going into a civil war, it was critical that they fully understood the mission.

Dumbledore looked sad, as if the weight of all his years was pushing down on him as he acknowledged their alertness, "Yes, a civil war. But do not fear as I have no intention of hiring mercenaries. What you need to know about it is that the 'Dark Lord Voldemort' leads the other side, and his objective is the extermination of all the muggles and muggleborns – his side are the purebloods, which believe themselves superior from the other groups."

Dumbledore paused and glanced at them before sighing, "Voldemort has terrorised our world for many years, and almost all the wizards you will meet will refer to him as 'You-Know-Who' instead of his title. His followers are called 'Death Eaters' and can be identified by this mark, which will be branded on their inner left forearm – it is referred to as the 'Dark Mark'."

He presented a design that had a skull with a snake running through it, and was confused at the growl that one of the boys emitted and the mutter of "it's always a snake."

Albus filed this away but continued on with the information, "Anyway, I suppose I should explain the war properly. You see, he emerged in the 1970's, but was banished into a weak spirit form as one of our number turned his own killing curse against him in 1981, the victim miraculously being the first to survive this curse – I believe that you shinobi spent a time studying the curse and if there was a counter; am I correct, Tsunade-san?"

The younger shinobi turned to their leader, who sported a completely shocked look as a hand rose to her mouth, "Someone… _survived_ that… _curse_?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely, and upon seeing the non-comprehending expressions on most of the younger shinobi – and the calculating one on the black-haired young man that he only knew as 'Nara' from Tsunade's descriptions at their first meeting –explained, "The Killing Curse is one of our society's Unforgivable Curses. It is characterised by a flash of green light and it cannot be blocked by any spell, nor has it ever failed to produce an instant and unmarked death when it touches a victim – until that day."

Now he saw comprehension, and he decided to continue on, "Your mission is related to the person that managed this unique feat." He gazed at their ranged expressions; some interested in who the survivor was, others focused on his words and he cleared his throat slightly, his gaze strengthening slightly as he began; "I am hiring you all for a mission that has two primary focuses; to protect the school from the intrusion of Voldemort and his Death Eaters and to guard Phoenix Potter, the 'Girl-Who-Lived' after being hit with the _avada kedavra_ curse." A few of the shinobi raised an eyebrow at the hyphenated name, but Albus barely paused to nod slightly.

"As you would have no doubt realised, Voldemort was recently able to regain a corporal form and has started up the civil war again. Phoenix, as the person who caused his original fall from power at one year of age and has continued to oppose him throughout her school years, is his number one target."

Tsunade had choked when Albus mentioned that the only one to survive the _killing curse_ was a one-year-old baby at the time, but had composed herself quickly. Her mind was flicking through reports of how it worked, and she was utterly confused as to how _anyone_ had survived such a thing.

"Do you have anything else to add, Dumbledore-san?" Tsunade asked.

At that, his aged eyes twinkled and he half-chuckled, "Well, one of things that pushed me to decide to hire you all as extensive security was the… fault of Miss Potter."

Tsunade raised an eyebrow, "Why have I not heard this before?"

"Oh, it's nothing bad." Dumbledore assured the Hokage while shaking his head ruefully, "It's just that she can be a little… independent."

"Independent?" A shy feminine voice asked, and Dumbledore turned his gaze to the female with white-eyes that he had heard referred to as 'Hyuuga' – no doubt a clan and the eyes a blood limit of some sort.

Dumbledore sighed, "Well… yes. You see, we found out only recently that she had decided to… in her words 'take a vacation'."

The brown-haired boy snorted, and a few of the other shinobi's expressions ranged from amused to alarmed. What kind of person that had people trying to kill them in the middle of civil war decided to go on a holiday? Dumbledore held up his hands, "Ah well, the problem was that we had not known that she had left."

"If I may ask" Tsunade said, voice holding a note of incredulity, "just why are you not more concerned about a seventeen year old – which I know is barely an adult in your world – being out away from any protection and possibly at the mercy of your enemies at this very moment?"

"Well you see…" Dumbledore said in a slightly embarrassed voice, "We didn't actually know that she had gone on a… vacation… for a month before I sent out people to pick her up from the safe house."

The shinobi had wide-eyes, slightly shocked at the idea that a civilian – even if she was a magic user – had actually done that.

_Probably a brat _Kiba signed in the ANBU form to the others as they watched the old man shift in embarrassment, which was slightly confusing them.

"Why aren't you more concerned about Potter-san's wellbeing?" Sakura decided to ask diplomatically.

"Well… we only just found her note telling us that she'd been on vacation a month after she'd left, and she just showed up at our Headquarters only a few hours later, looking as if we were all mad for expecting her to be at her relative's house."

Now the reason for the old man's embarrassment on the matter was clear.

"Wait." Naruto spoke loudly and with disbelief, "You _didn't know_ that this girl, who you were probably posting guards on (Albus nodded at the assumption) was gone for a _month_."

Dumbledore sighed, nodding his head. "Quite simply… yes. Phoenix Potter has always been capable of many things, most of which are out of the reach of normal magical folk. I am telling you this as a… warning, if you wish. Phoenix will not act anything like the competent witch that she is; she never likes to gain attention for her more brilliant accomplishments. I believe that if you accept the mission to guard Phoenix and Hogwarts, you will need to be aware that she is a capable young woman and not to be underestimated, like her enemies have done time and time again."

_Heh, maybe she's not just a brat – anyone that can do that is obviously talented, although part of that was probably incompetence on the guard's side._ This was Shikamaru, signing in such a way that it conveyed a lazy tone.

Tsunade nodded to Albus, "Is that all you wish to say?"

Albus smiled sadly and nodded, "I do hope that you take this mission, as I have a feeling we are in grave need of you. Should you accept, I have given Tsunade a portkey which will take you to our headquarters, where rooms have been made available for your arrival. You will have a few weeks to become accustomed to being in a magical environment as well as to get to know Miss Potter and her two friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. At the school you will be given your own set of rooms and I will leave you to arrange security as you see fit, and there is a room that should be sufficient for your continued training. Thank-you, Hokage-sama, I hope you have a pleasant day."

Albus suddenly turned on the spot, his outlandish robes swinging out before they all heard the pop of displaced air as he simply vanished.

As if that was some signal, the shinobi all slumped, now not worrying about putting up a strong front to the potential client.

Tsunade leaned back in her desk, threading her fingers together and staring seriously at the shinobi in front of her. "Well, what do you think?"

She saw thoughtful faces, and as she had expected the blond called out, "I think the old man needs our help."

"Naruto" his annoyed pink-haired teammate spoke up, "when will you grow up? Kami, you're _seventeen_ shouldn't you have grown out of shouting by now?

Naruto crossed his arms and scowled slightly, "I _have_ grown up, Sakura, but you've gotta admit that a mission to the Outside of all places sounds intriguing – especially with all that civil war crap. Probably a lot of action, even if it will be against wizards and not shinobi; I've been itching for someone to fight!"

"Dobe, you're _always _itching for someone to fight." Sasuke smirked as Naruto turned to scowl at him as well.

"Maa maa, don't regress now, _team seven_, we wouldn't want to go back to D-Ranks, would we?" Kakashi butted in, a glint in his eye as his 'cute team' shuddered.

"We're jounin now Kakashi." Naruto reminded his teacher somewhat petulantly; he wasn't called the toad-sage for kicks, you know.

"Hai, but you'll always be that bratty loud mouth to me, deshi."

Naruto ducked around his former sensei's hand and looked to the other team, which seemed perfectly content to watch Kakashi torture him. "So, waddya think, Shika? This mission a good idea?"

"Well" Shikamaru drawled, his face clear as he is considering all the facts, "It sounds like we are getting a good opportunity. There have not been many shinobi, if any, able to get a concrete idea of how wizards are trained and the capabilities of their kekkei genkai – we would be in the perfect position to do this in the school. This 'Albus-san' seems sincere in his wish to protect the students and Phoenix-san, and we may be able to convince one – perhaps Potter herself, as she seems to be more capable than her peers – to add some kind of magical protection to Konoha, which could only benefit us in the end if we do a good enough job. And if we witness any battles between Albus' side and the other, we will be able to see the effectiveness of their magic in a proper combat situation, which will allow us to be better protected against it should the need arise."

"I think Shikamaru's looking forward to a year of nothing more than guarding school children" Kiba muttered, and his companion Akamaru barked in accord.

"It sounds like a good opportunity" Sakura agreed, "I'll be able to see their healing techniques as well – there might be some that they have devised that will be able to be converted to use on normal chakra.

Tsunade had been nodding, and she received nods from the last three – Hinata, Neji and Sasuke – so she brought out the correct object and stamped the form so it now had a big red 'Accepted' on it. Ah, she loved the day Shizune had thought up using stamps for these forms; it made her job so much easier.

"Well, I am glad that you have accepted the mission. Pack the appropriate gear and report here tomorrow morning at 0900 hours for your transportation. Dismissed."

After a moment of movement, her office was empty once again and she stared down at the mission. She hoped that she had made the right choice by sending her finest into a war zone.

Tsunade opened a special draw in her desk and pulled out a bottle of sake, reclining back in her chair and ignoring the papers on her desk.

'_But even so' _she thought, smirking,_ 'At least I won't have to deal with a bored Naruto any longer.'_

She moved the liquid to her lips and took a mouthful, allowing it to slide languidly down her throat.

'_And its not like there's any shinobi there anyway.' _She thought dismissively, moving the Mission Request into the correct tray to have the shinobi's status altered for the long-term mission.

Tsunade cleared a spot on her desk to put down the bottle and stared out her window at the thriving village around her.

Being Hokage sure was tough.

**«×φ×»**

_The next day, same location_

Tsunade observed the two jounin teams arrayed in front of her. They each carried a pack that was likely filled with scrolls that they had sealed supplies into, and were dressed smartly and she nodded to them in greeting.

"Now, all you have to do to arrive at the proper destination is touch is piece of rope." She pulled out the portkey Albus had left with her and handed it off to the silver-haired cyclopes, watching as he passed it down so they all had a hand-hold on it. "Hatake will be the leader of this mission because of his seniority, and I _expect_ weekly reports."

Kakashi gave her one of his dopey eye-smiles. "Sakura, make sure Kakashi sends in reports – you can use the Slug contract to deliver them."

They now all had a grip on it, and she smirked "Enjoy the mission. London."

The look on their faces as they disappeared unexpectedly was like sake to the Hokage.


	14. HpPoT I

17. HP/Prince of Tennis crossover

**Second Life – Kimura Rei**

**Chapter One**

"So… this is Seishun Gakuen." The speaker muttered to herself while looking up at the large building in front of her. Very suddenly and without looking backwards, she took a half-step to the side seconds before a dark form sprinted past her, leaving her hair ruffling in his wake. She rolled her eyes at the speeding form, not in the least bit concerned that she could have been bowled over.

Her hand shifted on the strap of the bag she was carrying before she ambled towards the entrance, the last people milling about subconsciously moving out of the black-haired girl's path.

The bell rang loudly and the last few arrivals ran into the building. She just sighed and moved towards a staircase and in the direction that should take her to the correct classroom. After all, this building had nothing on her previous school… nothing can match the confusing inspired by a place where staircases moved, doors conspired to be walls and fixtures didn't stay fixed.

She ignored the stares of the few stragglers in the halls, (hell no was she wearing a sailor suit!) instead striding to a particular door, nodding at the label on it before moving her hand to knock.

"Come in!"

Steeling herself, she slid open the door and stepped in, quickly assessing the occupants and surroundings. It looked normal enough; four rows with roughly eight people in each with notebooks in front of them, most of the students looking relatively unassuming while the teacher upfront was at the board with a few notes already written on it.

The teacher was looking at her expectantly, "Kimura Rei?"

Rei nodded in affirmation, "Hai."

The teacher seemed to pause for a moment before indicating a direction. "Take a seat" he said shortly, ignoring her breach of dress code (not to mention that she'd been late arriving) before turning back to the board.

She spotted the clear position next to a brown-haired boy with oval-shaped glasses and shrugged, silently navigating the room and sitting down, idly grabbing out the same text book she had seen the others looking at along with a notebook.

The boy shot her a smile and she nodded at him in acknowledgement before slouching back and fiddling with her pen, training her eyes on the sensei in a half-hearted attempt to appear interested in the english class – not that she needed it.

Inwardly, she bemoaned the necessity of attending school. Just because she was physically fourteen did _not_ mean she should have to do this stupid shit. Of course, that had been her argument against attending primary school as well, and it didn't work at all either. Blah blah blah, 'they'll find you if you stand out'… bullshit! Hermione and Ron no doubt laughed themselves sick every time she called by to whine about how shitty attending _school_ again was – even _if_ it entailed learning completely different stuff. _They _weren't the ones de-aged in a freaking DOM accident when they tried to break in and stuffy the freaky veil there! Stupid hourglass thingy.

How was she supposed to know that they'd upgraded defences since Voldemort infiltrated it in her fifth year? Well, at least she'd managed to get _out_ before the Unspeakables came a' knockin'. That would have been _awkward_. 'Oh, I just broke into your top-secret division because I was drunk and got this awesome idea about saving my deceased godfather via pirouette through your creepy veil.' Yeah, uh, _not_ gonna happen. Especially since people had started spewing out stuff about her being 'too powerful to go unchecked'.

So _they_ were the ripe old age of twenty-five and she was stuck as a fourteen year old. Yeah, she'd lost approximately eleven years to the DOM. The worst part was having to go through puberty again. But at least this time she was equipped with Weasley pimple-no-more. And some nifty little charms that made worrying about abstinent hair negligent. Oh – not to mention a decided lack of Dursleys; that was probably the awesome bit about re-doing her childhood.

Of course, the company sucked – little kiddies, even if she was supposed to be the same age, were just _not_ good conversationalists. They talked about bunnies. Ya, just not a thrilling conversation starter for her.

She _had_ found the new classes and stuff at least interesting, but the problem was that it was just so _easy_. She'd conned her primary teachers to skip her ahead a year, but party-pooper Hermione had found out and made her swear a Witches Oath not to do it again – overkill much? Merlin's balls, its not like she doesn't _trust_ her or anything! …Or at least _she_ thought she'd earned her friend's trust, but apparently when it came to her education she wasn't allowed to skip ahead 'cos Hermione decided she should have a _normal_ experience and make friends her _own_ (physical) age.

Yup, Rei knew Hermione was pretty much living vicariously through her, but short of binding her magic and living in a hut she was _stuck_ with her. For life.

The goblins had taken care of making her new identity perfectly legal, fabricating a background and making her emancipated in the eyes of the law and she'd spent a couple of years in different countries – her latest just so happened to be Japan, and she was joining the third year at Seishun Gakuen because of that skipped grade.

She was now Kimura Rei; a shorter-than-average teenager with blue-black hair and emerald-green eyes. Her body was lithe and deceptively strong from years of living on the knives edge between life and death; she knew and had seen the very worst of society and had laughed in its face, picking up skills such as lock-picking and sleight-of-hand, the ability to move unseen and unheard, analysing situations and people, physical and magical combat… the list went on. Probably the most useful of her talents was the gift of telepathy – a gift that was _always_ passively working, picking up threats to herself even when she was _trying_ to block it out… which she tried to do most of the time, although it was practically instinctive to her to know what people were about to do almost before they did.

To curb the boredom incited by the classes designed for children, she'd taken up different sports and found that, like with quidditch, she was a natural in everything she attempted. She'd gone to the best and challenged them privately, picked up hints and tips on the side in an attempt to replicate the adrenaline rush she had been missing because she no longer had to fight for her own life on a daily basis.

She _didn't_ play at the schools – it just wasn't cool to beat little kiddies because she had the advantages where it counted; years of physical conditioning, reflexes and eyes honed enough to see and catch a walnut sized ball in a quidditch stadium and follow it at speeds up to 200km/h.

"Miss Kimura! Are you listening?"

The green-eyed girl was brought rudely back to the present and replied lazily, "Hai, hai."

The sensei's eyes narrowed. "Then could you tell me what I was talking about?"

Rei sighed softly and rattled off the answer word-for-word as she took it from his thoughts.

Some days, telepathy was awesome.

**«×φ×»**


	15. HP AU: FemHarry

15 Harry Potter, fem!Harry.

Warning for language

●x●**x**●**x**●x●

"You know I love ya," a voice rang out sarcastically, "but I'd really appreciate you bringing up this stuff later!"

The owner of the voice ducked as a luminous green bolt of light cut towards her, all the while swearing she could feel bits of her hair burning that didn't quite make it out of the way in time. Her green eyes widened and she threw herself bodily to the left to avoid another jet of light, this one a sickly orange shade and smoking faintly around the edges.

"But what if there's no time to talk about this later?" A person shouted obnoxiously (in her opinion) from the sidelines.

"Your voice is annoying!" She retorted, tucking in her head and rolling on her shoulder, getting her feet underneath her and springing up just in time to watch a blue light come within a thumbnail's length of her eyes.

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is – _fuck_ – can we_ please _talk about this later?"

"No." In her peripheral vision, she saw the white-blonde haired man-boy jut out his bottom lip and cross his arms childishly.

She resisted the urge to bash her head against the wall mostly because of the high chance of being killed by her opponent should she stop at any point. Instead, she made use of her increasing annoyance and added it into her spell, smashing a hyped-up _reducto_ into her opponent's nose-less face.

"You're not talking to me."

"Observant, aren't you?" She threw out sarcastically as she was all too occupied dodging a round of curses that she was fairly sure caused intestinal rotting. Well, either that or nose mutation.

"Stop ignoring me!" She _might_ have just heard the prissy man actually stomp his foot right then, but a cacophony of noise caused by the south wall exploding might have caused her to mishear.

"Remind me again why I _ever_ dated you, _ever_?" She was sprinting towards the asshole Nose-less Dark Lord in front of her, somersaulting under another neon-green bolt of death and coming up, stabbing her wand under his knee cap, smirking toothily at the hiss of pain she received from the action.

She dodged around Nose-less and jabbed his kidneys, along with kicking his bleeding knee out from under him, watching him crumple forwards to the floor with a vicious satisfaction.

"Draco wishes me to inform you that he 'does not appreciate your insinuation.'" The deadpan voice made her do a double-take, and she glanced back at where her fellow comrades were and shot an incredulous look at her best friend, Hermione Granger, and saw (to her dismay) that the woman was in her 'this-is-ridiculous-but-it's-your-fault-so-I'm-not-stopping-the-prat' frame of mind. Damn. That meant she'd indulge the prick.

"Dating, fucking, what's the difference?" She sniped over her shoulder in an attempt to get the bastard to shut up. Just because they got carried away fighting a few times and ended up fucking, didn't mean she actually _liked_ the poncy bastard. It was just a great stress reliever. And since this war had been ongoing since she was seventeen – so for six years now – and they'd been locked up in Hogwarts 80% of the time, (discounting her secret sojourns into the muggle world that no one knew about) it was kinda inevitable that _something_ would happen. And Malfoy hadn't joined Voldemort's side, so they'd been stuck with him.

Of course, she paid for her distraction with a bone breaking curse to her wand arm.

Cussing up a storm and bemoaning the fact that her wand had departed to parts unknown while she was busy worrying about her broken arm, she fumbled for the dagger that she'd stashed in her boot with her left hand, thankful that the wand wasn't the only weapon she'd thought to bring to this 'epic' showdown.

As far as epic showdowns went, this one was turning out to be quite lame – what with having to deal with the Drama Queen Slytherin is a pissy mood (she'd chucked out his stash of hair gel in retaliation for his general bitching and moaning over the past week and he'd only discovered the empty jars an hour before they'd gotten word of Lord No-Nose's location) – which was just typical of her luck really.

They were in the Department of Mysteries – _again_ – and in the Veil Room, to top it all off. For some reason, it had changed from the single platform in the middle surrounded by raised seating to just a flat room with the eerie curtain smack dab in the middle, no seating of any form to be seen – maybe the Unspeakables had had to change it after their first break in? Or maybe that second time, when they had that mini dragon? Meh, either way it was different. Of course, now it was pretty much just a room full of rubble with a wall exploded – she could even see a line of desks in the next room due to that unfortunate spell.


	16. HP: Abused

16 Harry Potter abused fic

This is one of those abused!Harry fics. I didn't get much into it before I got very sad at it all, so I stopped. It _was_ going to be a HP/Naruto fic, with Harry gaining some creature traits in his first year, forcing his paranoia to spurn him into running away from the wizards.

**Prologue**

Boy's world got a whole lot bigger the day his aunt and uncle enrolled him in school at five years of age, along with his cousin Dudley.

Before then, all Boy had known was the dark spider-filled corners of his cupboard, the chores that he had learnt to do meticulously through trial and error, all the while observed under the hawkish gaze of Aunt Petunia, who made sure he knew when he had made a mistake in the tasks.

He had seen from afar other children before and he knew what they looked like and how they acted; Aunt Petunia would bundle Dudley in layers of clothes as protection should he fall on the playground and make sure Harry was covered in the large clothes that had been Dudley's before bringing them both out of the house. Boy would be made to sit with Aunt Petunia on a bench in the park and watch as Dudley barrelled into a game of tag with the other boys there, and eventually have to be dragged away for fighting, Aunt Petunia getting into a shrieking argument with the other boy's mother over which child started it.

If Boy was ever allowed to join in the play, it would be because Dudley wanted him to. And Dudley only wanted to join with his friends and chase Boy down, kicking and punching him in a group and Boy would be hurting all over, yellows and blues and purples all patterned over his skin until the next day when he would wake up and everything would be back to normal.

On his first day of school, Boy learnt that his name was Harry Potter and that he was expected to answer to that name.

On his first day of school, Harry learnt that Mrs Ashford looked at him strangely when he asked what 'family' was.

On his first day of school, Harry learnt that other children avoided him when his cousin scared them enough. He learnt that his clothes were strange, and that other kid's parents cooked for them and _cared_ for them, even if they weren't their proper parents.

On his first day of school, Harry learnt what 'Aunt' and 'Uncle' meant, and that it wasn't normal for them to be hurting him for not doing his chores properly – that they were 'abusing' him and that they shouldn't be.

On his first day of school, Harry learnt that none of _them_ lived in the cupboard under the stairs like he did.

And on his first day of school, Harry learnt that he was far more intelligent than his peers; that he could do things and understand things that they couldn't

**Chapter One**

A small scruffy boy with black hair that curled slightly at the ends and fell into his deep emerald green eyes travelled at a rapid pace, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if worried that someone was following him. His eyes scanned the street and footpaths behind him, the colour of them striking against the midnight black of his hair and distracting the casual observer from seeing the sharp awareness and calculation hidden in their depths which seemed too mature for a boy that had just began school that year.

The boy broke his quick pace and hesitated as he reached a corner, glancing nervously around the obstruction to check for his pursuers – the scrawny but tall brunet and the fat and round blonde that was his cousin.

Finding no sign of them, he quickly moved around the corner, almost shrinking back into himself as an old lady on the pavement shot him that _Look_ – the look that was disapproving, judgemental and above all dismissive of the small boy, basing her entire verdict on his baggy, scuffed and frayed clothes, shoes that almost fell off his feet and the rumours that he knew his Aunt was whispering about him being _'a delinquent; a hooligan really. Vernon and I are Saints for taking the troubled orphan boy in, I swear it! All he does is complain and cost money, he's got no respect at all!'_

The woman looked at him with glacial eyes, and he felt her suspicious eyes on his back as he passed her and continued on down the street, doing his best to ignore her – after all, he faced worst than just accusing stares while away from prying eyes and ears at number four Privet Drive.


	17. HpPoT II

18 HP/Prince of Tennis crossover II

I'll warn you that I just wanted to write a kickass character again.

**«×φ×»**

**Chapter 1**

"Why is everybody so… excited?"

The words held the hint of a lazily drawl which _could_ have been due to the fact that the speaker had appeared to be asleep bare moments before talking.

Mismatched eyes – one a deep emerald green and the other a strange burgundy red – blinked hazily a few times as the teenaged girl stretched out her arms and arched her back, seemingly to shake off the nap she had been having in the middle of the school grounds. She cast her gaze around absently as one hand moved to grab the bag that she'd been using as a convenient pillow before she rose with sinuous grace to her feet, dragging the bag with her.

"Eh?" She muttered to herself, still too sleepy to really be very bothered she was talking to herself as sharp eyes caught the disturbance that had woken her up – a short red-haired boy with a monobrow arrogantly extolling his brilliance as tennis at a green-haired boy who she could see was doing his best to ignore it. They both looked like freshmen to her and both were sporting tennis bags. Monobrow's voice was grating and she wasn't really surprised that she'd probably heard it when he was meters down the path… although this made her wince and vow to be wary and protect her poor ears should the occasion arise that she was required to be near him.

She knew that they were heading in the direction of the tennis courts (surprise surprise…) because she'd memorised a floor plan of the school and mapped out all possible exit points before ever stepping foot on the grounds or even enrolling into the third year there. Yup, she was paranoid… but she felt it was fully justified since she'd been through a war.

What war, you may wonder, would involve someone at middle school age? Why, the Wizarding World's War of course! Gaze in awe and horror as they stand aside and force a teenager to win their war for them! Feh, but she'd gotten over that 'Girl-Who-Lived' slash 'Chosen On' shtick years ago – with a little help from her connections in the DOM and the money-grubbing goblins.

She was never so happy to be a friend of Luna Lovegood then, when people realised Voldie was gone and _she_ was the only one left that presented a 'change' to their ideas and life, that Luna dragged her into the bowels of the Ministry, shoved her bodily into that golden-glowy hour-glass de-ager thingy and reeled her back out as a seven-year-old kiddie, all set to take advantage of a second childhood.

…Or well… she was _after_ Luna explained everything, although it didn't exactly make her happy at Luna's admittance that she'd _actually_ been aiming for herself to be eleven years old.

What did she do with being seven, you may ask? Heh, she tramped off to the goblins and got herself a new identity as "Inari Kimura" – she chose a Japanese name because the country had _fascinated_ her during the months she'd been hiding out (illegally) there. The name 'Inari' had been chosen as a spur-of-a-moment thing; a way of thumbing her nose at the late Dork Lord as 'Inari' meant 'successful one'… it also amused her that she could shorten it to 'Nari' which meant 'thunder' – a nod towards the lightning scar that had (mercifully) disappeared the moment he died.

Ya, she'd admit she had a weird sense of humour straight after she'd played out the prophesy and _not died_. She'd even confounded a tattooist to put a Japanese saying she'd heard; 起死回生 (kishi kaisei) on the nape of her seven-year-old neck. The literal wording in English was to 'Wake from death and return to life' although the _meaning_ of the saying was 'to come out of a desperate situation and make a complete return in one sudden burst' – something she felt fit her life to a tee… especially the literal wording. The kanji were fairly small and in a vertical line, and she'd blackmailed the twins into teaching her their 'sensor-spell' – something they used on their window to hide the more offensive stuff from anyone who would disapprove and react violently… plainly, it hid it from people who were likely to dislike seeing a tattoo on the neck of a kid, although it wasn't foolproof in that anyone she spent a lot of time around and trusted would be able to see through it.

Not that she wanted to hide her tattoo – she was _damn_ proud of it. But she also accepted that to people who didn't know she had been mentally twenty-one when she'd gotten it would have a _lot_ to say about it. And she liked avoiding as much conflict as possible – it was too damn annoying having people worrying about you or after you.

So she'd gone and travelled, spending a few years here and there at primary schools mostly annoying the piss out of teachers via untraceable pranks and being a 'genius'… although she acknowledged that without the Dursley's influence she _did_ find schoolwork easy as pie, as she'd found out in Hogwarts.

So anyway; now Kimura Inari was a senior enrolled at Seishun Academy, Tokyo, and she fully intended to continue cruising as she normally did, kicking up trouble when it couldn't be linked to her and generally having a ball.

But now that her afternoon nap had been interrupted and her curiosity captured, she decided that she could sacrifice a bit of time to sate that curiosity.

**«×φ×»**

By the time she reached Seigaku's tennis courts at her lazy stride, there were only six people there – the two she'd seen on the path, two other freshman and two sophomores. She walked up, not really bothering about making her presence known, and lounged against the outside of the netting surrounding the court.

It didn't take her long at all to divine the sophomores were taking advantage of the naïve younger kids with their little 'knock over the tin' thing. She was kind of let down that none of them noticed her presence immediately, although she was forced to revise this a few minutes later while carrot-top was having his turn and the green-haired kid happened to spot her from the corner of his eyes and do a small double-take… after all, she was standing almost within arms-length of him, although on the other side of the cage.

She gifted the kid with an innocent smile (which she admittedly employed because it put him off-balance further) and was slightly put-out that he seemed to decide to ignore her presence for the sake of his own comfort.

She hated it when people were capable of throwing off her games quickly like that – it was less fun.

Nari was a little surprised when, on his last shot, 'Horio' managed to graze the ball-tin, but was somewhat less surprised that it didn't even fall over.

The kids gathered together and got out 200 yen for their try out, and Nari wasn't surprised at all to find one of the blue-wearing teens turn around and remark, "Huh? But you guys misunderstand." The brown-haired one with the green headband then kneeled down and turned the can around saying "Knock the can down' serve game. 500 yen per ball. 200 yen per tryout fee extra." It was a dirty scam and one she in all good conscience could not abide.

"Oi; you guys shouldn't be playing around with the freshmen." Her voice wasn't raised all that much and her tone was mild, but it _did_ serve to make the teens on the court turn to her with strangled exclamations and shocked expressions – she _was_ in plain sight from their positions, after all.

The brown-haired guy snarled and was about to retort when the green-haired kid in front of her came out with, "I'll do it."

"Echizen! Don't do it. You'll never hit it!" Aah. So _that_ was green-hair's name.

Nari kept one ear on their conversation – it seemed that they'd pretty much began to ignore her with the distraction of Echizen taking out his shiny red racket. It didn't bother her because she used that moment to study the kid's form – his gait was confident, but she could see the flaws; by his moments, he was trying to emulate someone older than him… most probably his father. He was ambidextrous but preferred his left hand, most likely had a sharper-than-average eye and, if what she was seeing was correct, he had trained to play with one eye – or both – closed. Hmm… interesting.

So on the whole, he could probably play against opponents older than him effectively. He was also extremely smug in his abilities – he'd probably won a few tournaments not too long ago.

Her casual observance proved at least partially correct as she idly watched him casually serve and deliberately bounce it off of the top of the can, making the rocks tip over and knock over the can.

Of course, then he provoked the sophomores by serving _again_, and continuing to hit the downed can. Nari found it slightly amusing – the looks on the older-boy's faces especially giving her enough satisfaction to agree with her own choice of cutting her nap short.

And then the spiky-haired kid that had been watching silently from across the court served his _own_ ball, making a dent in the tin and cheering about being "Lucky".

Nari just stayed in the background observing, ignoring as the two sophomores that had been bothering the freshmen slunk out of the courts with their metaphorical tails between their legs.

The sound of footfalls distracted her from the conversation between green-top and the newcomer, 'Momoshiro', and she turned her head around to see two female freshmen in those sailor-suits come around the corner, leading two people that she got heavy 'paparazzi' vibes from… although that _may_ have had something to do with the camera.

And the amount of experience she'd had at picking them from crowds.

There was a woman and a man, and one of the girls that were apparently leading them to the courts went up to green-top and shyly greeted 'Ryoma-kun', which Nari guessed was Echizen's first name.

She was mildly surprised when the brown-haired guy repeated "Echizen… Ryoma" like he'd heard it before (which made her raise an eyebrow at him) but she was even more surprised when the sophomore introduced himself as 'Takeshi Momoshiro' and said that his couch had talked about Ryoma and his 'Twist Serve' and they somehow got into a game.

She kept it to herself that she was sceptical of what 'Momo' would accomplish while playing with his foot sprained, and turned to the press-people to be polite; "Hi; I'm Kimura Inari, nice to meet you."

The woman with purple-ish eyes turned and smiled, nodding; "You too; I'm Shiba Saori."

"Inoue Mamoru." The guy seemed distracted, which she was ever-so-thankful for, because she had the feeling that her fun would be ruined had he been in his right mind.

"So what's so interesting about the chibi over there?" She asked Inoue curiously, nodding at green-top where he was bouncing the ball in preparation for a serve.

The journalist didn't take his eyes off Ryoma, and Nari recognised his expression – it was the look of seeing someone that reminded them of someone they knew… she had seen that look on Sirius' face so many times all those years ago that it was unmistakable, even if this one was different to the intensity that came with mourning someone.

She waited patiently and admired the kid's serve; she knew what type of control and training it took to make the ball spin like that, not to mention deliberately target the opponent's hand. "So?" She reminded.

The brown-haired guy blinked and looked across at her, his gaze focusing once more. She caught his momentarily confused look of 'have I seen her before?' before he shook his head and dismissed it, turning back to the game and saying, almost to himself, "I have heard the name of 'Echizen' before; Echizen Nanjiro, the "Samurai among the Sakuras". I believe that may be his son."

Catching his eyes, Nari made use of a little probing to come up with a picture of a brown-haired guy with his hair in a pony-tail hitting a Twist Serve of higher calibre than Ryoma was doing just then, and learnt that the guy was a pro that had retired in the middle of a match that would have put him at the top of the tennis world. Interesting.

The guy shook his head again and looked a little unnerved – something that she'd found always happened when she directed her full attention to someone, no matter if she used a touch of legilimency or not; it had happened ever since she'd lost her left eye and gotten it replaced with the burgundy-coloured one… well, it had happened before that too, but it became more pronounced after the loss even though she hadn't added any features to it that would be visibly strange to non-magical people. It was actually _because_ of the discomfort of others that she usually kept her gaze vague and adopted her lazy manner – she found that it put people at ease.

Not that she wasn't lazy; (or at least she was _now_) it was just that her laid-back attitude began out of a need to stop freaking out people left, right and centre during the war. You don't wanna scare off your allies, no siree!

Anyway, the kid was winning against (what she gathered from Inoue's mutterings) one of Seigaku's Regulars, when he switched to his left hand – proving another of her observations correct – and got into position for another serve.

That was when Momoshiro finally called an end to the farce with an "I quit. It's over." Which was incidentally what Nari had been expecting to happen – that Momoshiro couldn't afford to injure his ankle further and compromise its recovery.

Nari decided to leave as she saw Seigaku's coach walk up to the sophomore Regular and the others gathering to discuss the set.

She slipped away unnoticeably, ambling back around the building and back down the path she had arrived from. She caught the eye of the unseen observer and nodded to him; the brown-haired senior she thought she remembered from her class that day betrayed no outward display of surprise, but she caught a flicker of it behind his oval-shaped glasses.

It seemed things would at least be interesting at this 'Seishun Gakuen'.

**«×φ×»**

**Chapter 2**

"But I dun wanna…"

Momo blinked, looking away from his spot beside the freshmen and at the origin of the interruption – a short girl, probably a senior and from what he could see from his vantage point she had wavy black hair cut to her shoulders and seemed to be complaining to the principal as she was following him. She was also, strangely, wearing the boy's uniform.

He traded a confused look with Kikumaru as the unlikely duo greeted coach Ryuzaki. "Can you hear what they're saying?"

He glanced sideways at Oishi, who he hadn't noticed approaching, and watched in confusion as the Principal seemed to be gesturing to the girl, who had her arms in her pockets and stood a little slouched as she apparently ignored what he was saying, although they could see that whatever he said was _very_ interesting to their Coach – her expression evolved from sceptical to shocked to intrigued and then excited. "Whatever he's saying it's got Coach interested." Fuji commented.

Momo blinked and looked again, seeing that the Regulars had gathered loosely around him without his noticing – well, everyone bar Tezuka.

Coach Ryuzaki looked over behind them and beckoned to their approaching buchou. "Ne, waddya think coach wants with captain Tezuka?" Kikumaru voiced something that was on all their minds.

They continued watching in confused silence as Tezuka joined the small group, but since he was standing loosely next to the girl they couldn't see his reactions to whatever he was told. _Finally_ in Momoshiro's opinion (although they couldn't have been talking for more than a few minutes) he saw the girl shrug and the principle sigh in apparent relief and the group started moving towards their position.

"Ne ne Coach! What's up?" Kikumaru shouted in his perpetually excited way as he seemed put out by the apparent exclusion of them.

Ryuzaki blinked as if she'd forgotten they were there before she smiled, "Oh, we were just discussing the possible inclusion of Kimura-san here to the tennis club." She inclined her head back in the direction of the girl who seemed to be taking her time approaching their position, rolling her eyes at whatever the principal was saying (something that Momo really couldn't see himself doing, ever). "She's going to have a one-set match against Tezuka to decide her entrance."

"Huh?" A chorus of similar exclamations joined his own and the Regulars (and the other members of the tennis club that were gathered within hearing range) universally turned to stare, open-mouthed at the girl, taking her in a new light.

"…But, there's no way she could play evenly against Tezuka." Oishi muttered disbelievingly, almost to himself although this was the consensus on the matter. Now they studied the girl more closely and were frankly puzzled. She was lithe and short with different coloured eyes – one a deep green and the other a dark red, which was something that Momo had never seen before. She didn't look impressive, and at the moment even fully awake – just why had the Principal apparently decided to drag her to the tennis club? And why was she getting a match against Tezuka before she joined?

Ryuzaki smiled in a way that said she knew more about the situation than they did before she turned back to observe the girl slowly approaching. She finally commented, "If she wins, she doesn't have to join the club."

They stared at Ryuzaki. There were no words for it.

The girl – Kimura, Ryuzaki had said – had finally reached them and her eyes ran over their assembled crowd. She inclined her head and said, "Hello. I'm Kimura Inari, it's nice to meet you all." Even her _voice_ was lazy; it held a slight drawl to it as though it was too much effort for her to pronounce the words properly.

They were all in various stages of shock and watched in complete silence as Tezuka unzipped his tennis bag and pulled out his racket.

Momo was distracted not long after by a hand waving in front of his face. "…oi, are ya listening?"

He blinked and suddenly realised that the girl was trying to catch his attention; "…yeah, is anybody home?"

"Wha…?"

He blinked again, now noticing that she was looking at him as if _he_ was the strange one! _She_ was the one apparently challenging Tezuka – _Tezuka! – _on the condition that if she _won_ she'd not have to join the tennis club! That sounded _insane_ to Momoshiro – firstly, wouldn't it make more sense for her to not have to join if she lost? But it looked like the _Principal_ was the one that wanted her in the club – Momoshiro wondered just what was so good about her that the principal would go to such lengths as personally escorting a student to them. He _definitely_ didn't see anything particularly unusual about 'Kimura Inari' other than that she looked to be half-asleep where she stood, and also that he wouldn't have been surprised to see a strong gust of wind blow her away – she was _that_ tiny. She barely had much over the freshmen!

"…Can I borrow your racket?" She was looking at him expectantly – although still slightly slouched – and gestured at the racket hanging slackly in his right hand as though she'd had to repeat the request a few times (which was fairly likely considering how out of it he'd been).

Momo automatically glanced down at it and back at her before holding it out, "Er… sure! But wouldn't it be better to use your own racket? Because, I mean, your opponent is Tezuka! You're not used to my racket and it won't fit you, it's too big!"

The girl – Kimura-senpai, Momo reminded himself – reached out and plucked the racket out of his hands, waving off his questions, "Eh, I don't really mind." She gave him a quirked-grin before shrugging as she turned around to head onto the court but paused for a second, looking thoughtfully at the racket and adding as if it had just occurred to her, "Oh, I also forgot to bring mine…"

"YOU FORGOT?" A few face-palms were traded from the eavesdropping crowd around them, and Momo caught in the corner of his eye the Principal himself performing an exasperated eye-roll.

"She's an interesting one, ne?" Principal Ishikawa inserted as they all watched Kimura win the choice with 'smooth' and hand first serving rights to Tezuka with a "Eh, you go first" while she chose to keep the court she was on (they tried to ignore her mutterings about not being bothered to walk around to the other side of the court).

"Strange is more like it." Momo muttered, watching raptly with everyone else as Tezuka got into position to do an underhand serve – something they _all_ knew (well, the Regulars at least) would precipitate the 'Tezuka Zone', his ultimate technique that made his opponent's returns _always_ go to his position. "…Does she even know _anything_ about Tezuka?"

Fuji had his eyes open as he studied the two players, "Tezuka seems to be more serious than usual. What is so special about Kimura?"

Since _everybody_ wanted to know what the big deal was, they waited with anticipation for an answer although their eyes were glued to the match in front of them – Tezuka had served, and Kimura was (to their slight surprise) running to return the ball from the two opposite ends of the court alternatively where Tezuka was aiming.

"Special about Kimura?" Ishikawa repeated rhetorically, "Well, in her last school – one in Canada, by the way – she was the Captain of their renown tennis club… and she achieved this as a freshman, beating not only all the Regulars single-handily, one after the other, but also the coach and even the rest of its members… and this club held over one hundred and twenty members."

Shocked gasps answered this, and they looked at the lithe girl in a different light. She chose that moment to talk to Tezuka… and not in a shout but as if she was just sitting down to lunch or something; "Hey, Tezuka. Are you gonna hurry up and actually do more than that technique? Man, if you don't do somethin' soon I'll just break this 'cos I think it gets old after a while."

"She can't _actually_ do that, can she?" Oishi asked somewhat sceptically, "No one can break the Tezuka Zone, and she hasn't even been playing against it that long!"

Oishi's denial was interrupted by Kimura doing… _something_. They weren't sure exactly _what_ she'd done, but the ball was suddenly moving towards the far left corner of Tezuka's court, apparently completely free of the pull of the Tezuka Zone.

"What?"

"H-how did she _do_ that?"

Tezuka seemed just as shocked as they were as the ball hit just inside the court and spin out. "15-love, Kimura."

"B…but she didn't _do_ anything!" Momo couldn't help but point out disbelievingly, "it must have been a fluke!"

Tezuka was collecting himself, staring at the girl standing in a slouch on the other side of the court. He pursed his lips and served another underarm ball, causing Kimura to roll her eyes and return it "Tezuka, this is _old_ now." She complained. "And too much effort."

Principal Ishikawa spoke again; "She didn't attend a formal school last year, instead being homeschooled… there are no records of what she was doing, but she _is_ one of the world's top geniuses – I'd heard about her years ago when she was still just in primary school."

Momo glanced at their local prodigy, Fuji, and found that he was still intently studying Kimura's form as she seemingly easily returned Tezuka's serve.

They watched in shock as, on the next return from Tezuka, she hit it and the ball once again did not react to the Tezuka Zone, but this time Tezuka was ready and ran, successfully returning it.

"Wha?" Kikumaru's exclamation rang out, and he edged forward and stared closely at Kimura as she returned Tezuka's shot with a deliberate chance ball. "She… she's going up against Tezuka and she… she's not even _trying_!"

"We can _see_ that, Eiji." Oishi chided his doubles partner, but Kikumaru shrugged it off, shaking his head emphatically; "No no, you don't get it! Look close!"

Tezuka smashed the ball at astonishing speed to the opposite corner of her court, but she seemed to almost appear behind the ball before she sliced it flawlessly into his court. The ball seemed to go towards where Tezuka was waiting to intercept it before it whirled away after the bounce, hitting the net on the left side.

Inui made a sound of enlightenment. "I see."

"What, what do you see?" Momo half-shouted, not wanting to be left out of the loop. A general noise of acknowledgement added to his demand.

Inui smiled grimly, and Kikumaru circled his hands around his eyes to focus more clearly, ignoring Inui's impending explanation; "Look at her. Her movements don't waste one ounce of effort; there's also a disparity – Tezuka had her running from side-to-side with his technique, but she isn't even sweating while Tezuka himself _is_. The way her muscles tense also indicates that she _isn't_ going as fast as she _can_… but I cannot judge how fast she could return the volleys."

Kikumaru nodded, and now, with it pointed out to them, they saw it as well.

"However, I cannot see how she is continuously breaking the Tezuka Zone." Inui commented, sounding frustrated as in her next shot the ball was returned as if it had been a normal serve, not even allowing the technique to start up.

"40-love, Kimura. Game point." Ryuzaki, acting as referee said, her voice holding a slight disbelief despite the professional veneer she tried to put up. It seemed she was as shocked as they were.

Tezuka served a _fast_ over-hand shot this time, going for a no-touch ace, but Kimura _appeared_ behind it once again and returned it, seemingly untroubled by the power in the shot as well.

"…Is she teleporting or something?" Momo asked somewhat embarrassedly, "Cause I mean… I can't see her move… she's just… _there_."

"No no, she's running." Kikumaru and his unnatural talent at seeing fast-moving objects ensured him. "It's just… I've never seen someone move so fast! Sugoi!" He added, bouncing slightly as he seemed to be contemplating being able to move so fast himself.

"She's gotten faster." Inui commented suddenly, drawing their attention. "Instead of running out of stamina, her pace has been increasing by roughly 5% every ball she returns." He related factually, scribbling something in his data book that had just _appeared_ in his hand sometime Momo wasn't paying attention. As he was used to this, he ignored it as normal.

She shot another chance ball at Tezuka, and those that knew what to look for recognised Zero-Shiki Drop Shot – a ball that drops on the opponent's side of the court before rolling back towards the hitter.

Something flashed in Kimura-senpai's eyes, and all of a sudden – feeling like a split second to the watchers – she went from the base line on the left side of the court to within arm's distance of the net, smashing the incoming ball into Tezuka's court before it got a chance to land.

Silence. Complete silence, combined with dropped jaws from their audience.

Kimura, whose focus of attention on Tezuka had seemed vague at best for the game so far, was stood right at the net with her full gaze settled on her opponent. She seemed to hold Tezuka's gaze, and Momo wasn't exactly sure but from what he could see of her side-profile; her full attention seemed like an uncomfortable thing to garner.

The tense moment dissolved as she slouched slightly again, moving the racket to rest lightly off her left shoulder and bouncing it up and down lightly. Her right hand rested in her pocket.

"Game to Kimura! Switch courts, Kimura's serve."

Kimura seemed to shoot an annoyed glance at Ryuzaki before she shook her head emphatically, "No, there's nothing to gain in continuing this 'match'."

"WHAT?" General noise of disagreement broke out among the watchers, and Momo himself was one of them – why cut short such an awesome match? As far as he was concerned, it was just beginning!

"Why?" Tezuka's calm voice cut through the general noise, and the club members quietened down to hear her reason.

She just _looked_ at Tezuka as if he was fairly mentally-deficient if he had to ask (Momo had personally _never_ seen _anyone_ use that look on _Tezuka_ of all people, although he did find it amusing that the girl barely reached his shoulders) before she rolled her eyes, "Continuing this match would not benefit you or me." Her tone was mild, but there was apparently some kind of deeper meaning to it that Momo couldn't see because Tezuka looked as if he knew _exactly_ what she was referring to. As far as Momo could see, the only strange thing she'd done was roll her left shoulder, flicking his racket around before she actually spun it exactly like Kikumaru was fond of doing.

Oishi's shocked exhale made Momo look sideways at him suspiciously. So _he_ was in on it too, and judging by Coach Ryuzaki's face, she was as well. He scowled to himself. They had just been showing off a little for the newcomers to the club before Principal Ishikawa dragged the girl in and disrupted their pre-meditated show of awesomeness! It wasn't fair! And Tezuka wasn't even contesting stopping the match when he didn't get a _single_ score past! It just wasn't right! She'd _broken_ Tezuka's best shots and plays in all of twenty minutes!

Momo was snapped out of his mental ranting as something rested against his palm, and after glancing down to clarify that it was his racket, he curled his fingers around the grip and acknowledged Kimura's "thankyou for lending me your racket" with a distracted nod.

"But does that count as a win or loss?" Principal Ishikawa seemed put-out with the abrupt ending of the short one-set match, which may have been why he asked the question a bit louder than strictly necessary.

"I don't want to join the tennis club." Kimura responded immediately, looking at least vaguely serious for the second time that day.

"What?" "No, Seigaku _needs_ good players like her on the team!" "She beat _Tezuka_, we can't afford to let such a strong player stay off the Regulars!" Were only some of the objections Momo could make out of the general rabble – objections that he agreed with, because even if the match had ended in a dissatisfying way, the opportunity of playing alongside such a player was exciting – no one would beat them with her and Tezuka playing for Seigaku!

Kimura seemed surprised at their objections, raising an eyebrow at them. Because she was still standing fairly close to him Momo heard her muttered "but its too boring to participate in tournaments" which almost made him want to face-palm… she sounded almost like she was whining, and he could have _sworn_ he could see a pout on her face for a few seconds.

Tezuka had approached the group and was standing loosely by her side, and he directed his next words to her pointedly, "technically, because you forfeited the match it counts as my win."

"That is true." Coach Ryuzaki agreed as she also arrived at the sidelines, seemingly amused at the vaguely annoyed expression marring Kimura's face.

Ishikawa interjected, "The deal was that I would allow you to wear the male uniform _if_ you would play a match with the winner deciding if you would join the tennis club or not."

Kimura made a face at that and replied, "It would be unfair of me to compete." She looked serious again as she continued, "not only am I at such a level that playing in any middle school tournament would be unfair to the other competitors, I've also only just transferred here; I don't want to deprive those that have gone to Seigaku and worked alongside each other on their tennis by taking their spot. It wouldn't be fair." She looked around and met Ishikawa's eyes, and then Ryuzaki's and Tezuka's as if to convey her earnestness in this belief. Momo couldn't help but admire Kimura in that moment; that she wouldn't take a spot on their Regular team because she wanted their hard work to be acknowledged where others would have had no scruples with transferring in and joining the Regulars if they had the talent to do so.

She grinned lopsidedly then, shrugging off the serious expression and winking – yes, _winking_ – at Tezuka before she finished in a drawl, "Meh, but I also don't want to get into all the drama of being a Regular."

Insert universal sweatdrop.

She then shrugged unapologetically at their somewhat mixed expressions; "And anyway, you said 'the winner could decide if I would join the club or not'… so in that case it would be Tezuka-san's decision, right? He's the captain anyway so you should defer to his decision." Her hands were back in her pockets and she pinned Tezuka with her bi-coloured gaze. "So 'buchou'. What's the decision?"

Tezuka raised his eyebrows at her change in tone, and adjusted his oval-shaped glasses, glancing at coach Ryuzaki. Momo guessed that everyone there was holding their breath for the answer – he knew _he_ was.

"I would like a moment to talk with our coach." He responded calmly, ignoring any calling to just get _out_ with it already.

While Ryuzaki and Tezuka collaborated a few meters away, some of the Regulars crowded Kimura enthusiastically. She seemed a nice person – they were asking a few questions and she seemed to be smiling at them and responding (although Momo did see her wagging a finger at Inui and saying "it's a se-cr-et!" –probably about how she broke the Tezuka Zone).

Anything else that may have happened was cut short as Coach Ryuzaki and Tezuka seemed to come to an agreement and made their way back. "Ne ne buchou? What's the choice? Is Nari-senpai joining?" Kikumaru's excited voice sunnily demanded.

Tezuka looked at Momo for a moment before turning to Kimura-senpai and saying, "Welcome to Seigaku."

The club members cheered, and Momo joined them – having such a strong player among them would help to increase their own skills.

Momo saw that Kimura-senpai seemed annoyed; she was glaring at their buchou and the celebrating Principal alternately.

Tezuka held up a hand and waited for everybody to calm down before he continued, "But if she would agree, we would like to offer her the position of assistant-coach, since she so apparently does not want to participate in the tournaments."

"Yes! I'll do it!" She replied with a fair bit more enthusiasm than they'd seen her display throughout the whole match and before. The members celebrated, but Momo wondered how many people caught the vaguely evil smirk that flitted across her face when Tezuka and Ryuzaki pulled her aside to explain what would be expected of her as the 'assistant coach'.

Momoshiro shrugged it off and joined the conversation analysing Tezuka and Kimura's match.

**«×φ×»**

**Chapter 3**

"No drama, no kiddies for me! No more eternal enemies, no more pissed off people! Yay!"

That got them all laughing at her, and after a moment of 'did I just hear that?'


	18. HP: A Different School

19 This one's HP only, with fem!Harry

I was setting up a different!school fic.

'**Solo'**

**Phoenix Solaris**

A black haired, emerald eyed girl stalked through the halls of Hogwarts

Students that saw her approaching were alarmed and quickly scattered out of her way, this reaction most probably because her magic was going haywire, sending suits of armour smashing into walls and ripping tapestries from their positions. The chaos that followed in her wake nicely echoed the bubbling turmoil inside of the teenaged witch; the utter frustration and anger that she bore towards just about every aspect of the wizarding world, manifested in a way that satisfied her current desire for destruction.

The reason for the awakening of such a desire?

It was all linked to one man – or wizard, as it were.

Another loud crash sounded to her left, but the witch didn't stop or look at the path of destruction she had created, stuck ruminating over what had happened mere hours earlier.

She had fallen for Voldemort's trap, and Sirius was dead because of it.

Not to forget to mention that her friends were injured – some more seriously than others – and all because of her. She didn't even know if they were alright; Ron's injuries were particularly severe, and she hadn't seen Hermione since she found the witch surrounded in a pile of her own blood.

But she wasn't in any fit state to be visiting the Hospital Wing to ask after their health – hell; Madame Pomphrey would probably shove a dreamless sleep potion down her throat and stick _her_ to a bed as well.

And Madame Pomphrey would petrify her if she damaged so much as a bed pan in the hospital wing – which was inevitable, considering.

Holly clenched her fist into a tight ball and viciously stifled the urge to punch something – mainly because the walls were stone and she didn't feel like breaking her hand. Even so, the nice vase on the white marble pillar crashed backwards and broke into millions of tiny little pieces because of her raging magic.

It made her feel a little better actually. Dumbledore would no doubt be running around the castle for a week fixing everything she'd broken. Well, that or he'd assign people to do it for him – that would be more the goat fucker's style.

"_I'M GONNA KILL THE STUDENT THAT IS BREAKING ALL THIS STUFF, MERLIN DAMN THEM TO HELL! I'M GONNA GET YOU!"_

In a moment of clarity, Holly realised that Filch's screams were quickly approaching her position and that he wouldn't have much trouble following the path of destruction right to her. She didn't want to put up with Filch's detentions and raving about thumbscrews on top of Dumble's little revelation, so she made a concerted effort to stop her magic slipping away from her control to break more things and took off sprinting, darting down a shortcut that would take her to the seventh floor.

Footsteps distinctly belonging to Filch shadowed her, prompting furious pacing in front of the stretch of blank wall that denoted the entrance to the Room of Requirement, not allowing her time to think of exactly what she wanted other than a place where Filch couldn't follow and kill her for what she'd done to the school.

Holly stormed through the open door, mind already flicking from her pursuer back to the cause of her ire, and she was fully prepared to continue her (self-acknowledged) pity party/tantrum when something solid collided with her left side.

She went down. Hard.

While peripherally aware of the door slamming shut behind her, she rolled away from her assailant automatically – something still a fixed reaction from years of surviving Holly Hunting in her childhood – all the while bewildered about just _who_ had attacked.

Looking up, she found that the correct term would be _what_.

Cursing, she rolled again, just barely managing to avoid the fast kick aimed for her ribs. She sprung up and jumped away, using the few seconds gained to direct her attention to the ceiling and shouting; "HOW IS BEING ATTACKED BY A FREAKING MANNEQUIN SUPPOSED TO BE HELPFUL? I SURE AS HELL DIDN'T _ASK_ FOR THIS!"

The thing lurched after her, bringing for attention back to dodging the next advances. Narrowing her eyes at the attacking, animated, padded mannequin that was apparently capable of complex movements, she thought that it looked pretty similar to those crash test dummies she'd seen in a report on car safety standards at the Dursley's.

She was knocked out of the examination (quite literally) by another blow to the side and she staggered away from the following punch, all the while wondering if she'd just heard something crack.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to ignore the twinges of pain in her side (which she'd decided _could_ be caused by bruised ribs) and growled – why the hell was she running from the stupid piece of animated rubber? It wasn't like _it_ had parents that would get her in deep shit if it was hurt!

She charged at it, throwing a (no doubt sloppy and totally wrong) punch to its stomach area before spinning around and kicking it in the knee, feeling a deep satisfaction at seeing it crash to the ground.

It jumped back up almost immediately, and she wore a fierce grin as she charged in for round two.

●»**φ**«

In retrospect, Holly couldn't quite remember just how long she spent fighting the mannequin… or trying to really, since she'd never had any conventional form of training in self-defence other than what she'd learnt first hand via playing the punching bag for her cousin and his friends. _That_ mostly consisted of rolling with punches, shielding soft spots that just _killed_ when they were hit, and learning how to fall so it didn't hurt; basically she knew how to take a beating and dodge like hell.

She had discovered that it didn't need recovery time after hard hits like people did, and that it had a mean right hook. By the end of the impromptu fight she was panting, aching and sprawled out on the mat that the Room of Requirement had switched out for flooring, feeling utterly worn out and drained.

'_That was surprisingly therapeutic.'_ She reflected, staring tiredly up at the ceiling.

It was in that peace that a revelation hit her.

The Room had provided her with exactly what she'd needed – a target to work out her frustrations against, and a way to bleed off excess energy. The physicality of the act was relieving to her, especially since she had never really gotten a chance to taste the satisfaction that came with physically beating something; she was not allowed to deal bruises to the boys of Little Whinging. The backlash that came from the one time she'd kicked Piers Polkiss in the nuts taught her that lesson loud and clear… his parents were worried that she might have affected his future chance of fathering children. At least that's what she seemed to remember hearing about it through her cupboard door those longs weeks of solitary when she was seven.

As her breathing evened and the adrenaline filtered out of her system, she became acutely aware of the injuries she had sustained; a few of her ribs felt bruised, there was a long cut running up her left arm, and she felt tender all over.

Just as Holly was wondering how she was going to explain the injuries to Pomphrey and the rest of the school, a banging sound had her almost jumping out of her skin and promptly whipping around to find the source of the noise.

A few metres away lay a thick book, face up on the floor, and Holly would have happily bet her Firebolt that it hadn't been there before. However, she wasn't too eagre to actually go and find out what it was about because of her current condition. Of course, as always, curiosity won out over her _need_ to stay away from any physical actions due to her utterly exhausted state, so she picked herself up (rather pathetically, she'd admit) and half-limped the distance to the book.

The book was titled "Quick Fix: A Beginners Guide" and the witch wondered what people would say if she maybe proclaimed the Room a God because it was so damn awesome. Seriously. She'd never even _thought_ to look up wizarding healing in the library (were there even any books on it there in the first place?)and here the Room was solving all of her problems without her needed to say a word. Seriously, this room had just won itself the dubious position of helping her more in a scant few hours than any adult or even _human being_ she'd ever met had ever bothered.

Now that Holly thought about it, that fact alone said something rather loudly about the quality of the adults she'd met. Professor McGonagall had always put up a front of protectiveness, but she hadn't believed her back in First year when the 'Golden Trio' had warned her about Voldemort going after the Philosophers Stone, or really about any other warnings that they'd given to her; she'd never had time to listen to them either, and she hadn't noticed her students being tortured in Umbitch's detentions no matter how many times she professed to know everything about her House. Remus, for all that he'd seemed serious about being 'as good as' an uncle to her, hadn't even contacted her once afterwards. …And even Sirius, for all that she had cherished him, had been unpredictable and dangerously unstable from his stay in Azkaban. Maybe it wasn't _Sirius_ that she was missing, but the _idea_ of him; he'd represented the last chance that she'd had at having a father figure, an adult to look up to who would protect her before any one else.

Banishing that introspective line of thought, Holly re-focused back on the cover of the book that she must have been staring blankly down at for the past few minutes and opened it up to the index.

"Now let's see… bruises. Maybe bruised bones, too… hmm. Is there something that can tell me what's wrong? Aha! There! 'Scan for illnesses – you've got them, we'll identify them!' Weird. Ah well." The witch muttered under her breath absently as she read the book.

Holly idly flipped to page 49 and carefully read it to check for any warnings that went with the spell; a hard-learned lesson that would remain with the Girl-Who-Lived long past the scar faded and she'd bought new books and shoes.

It looked benevolent enough as she picked up the wand and practised the finicky movement required before turning it on herself and performing the spell. As Holly waited for the results to scribble themselves onto the parchment the Room had supplied to her, she once again speculated over why Magic spoke Latin and not anything else. Wasn't it magic? What was the difference between saying 'levitate' as opposed to 'wingardium leviosa'? Was it because Latin sounded cooler?

Her idle line of thought was side tracked as she noticed that the spell had finished writing.

"Shit. That's one long list." She muttered, wide-eyed.

"Myopia, calcium and iron deficiencies, fragile bones, bones set incorrectly, stunted growth, malnourished, slight lead poisoning, bruised ribs, cuts, bruises… this is insane."

Holly couldn't exactly believe the number of things on the list, and she was even more worried that these results came from a _beginner's_ spell, geared towards picking up the most immediate problems; a first year would be able to perform it and come up with the same results! A footnote at the bottom made her do a double take; "recommend magic and mind scan? What could be wrong with my mind or magic? I _feel_ alright." She said incredulously.

"Shouldn't Pomphrey have picked all this stuff up?" She questioned herself a moment later confusedly, because even though she knew exactly squat about Healing, she _knew_ that a list of long-term illnesses like that didn't just appear over night. Absently eyeing one in particular, she thought that the lead poisoning probably came from living in the cupboard under the stairs and inhaling it when Dudley stomped down the stairs, causing paint and plaster to dislodge itself.

In lieu of panicking over the long list of illnesses that sounded like various degrees of bad, she decided to take care of the most immediate problems that she was capable of fixing, and looked up 'bruises' in the index, finding the spell and taking the time to heal all of the ones she could find on her person, improving at it as she went.

Finished with the distraction, Holly still had no idea how she was going to deal with her rap sheet of medical problems.


	19. HP: A Different School II

20 Harry Potter, and fem!Harry again

Realisations

Chapter 1

•±§±•

There comes a time in everyone's life when they are forced to reassess the meaning of their life thus far and face the reality to which they belong – whether they find their actions and situation satisfactory, or realise that, well, it just plain sucked.

To anyone who had any inkling just what fate and life had so far flung Rose Potter's way, it would be no surprise that, when Rose got that 'wake up and smell the roses' shock to the system, she fit neatly into the latter category.

There was no other thing to say about it: her life just plain sucked. Parents murdered by a homicidal megalomaniac of a Dark Lord at the age of one, forced to endure the torment, neglect and abuse at the hands of her relatives thereafter, and; when she had discovered that she had magic and was allowed to escape that situation, she finds out that there was a high chance that she would be assassinated by the aforementioned megalomaniac or his followers (the worst of which being still at large). There had been at least one serious attempt on her life each of her years at school, she had lost count of the number of her near death experiences, and oh, don't forget that her actions were under a microscope and followed by the whole of this new world's population, writing rumours and spreading them through the publication and gossip of the school.

And that list right there was the cliff notes version. Her 'shock to the system' was the death of the one last person that she had held hope for her own experience of a proper family – her godfather, Sirius Black, a casualty in her latest struggle against the Dark Tosser that seemingly held sway over her life. Intellectually, she recognised that she had not had that close of a relationship with Sirius – after all, the times she had seen him had been few and far between, and he wasn't in his right mind after Azkaban – no one would be and it was a miracle he was even coherent. She forced herself to admit that it wasn't exactly Sirius as a _person_ that she grieved, but what he _represented_ – the family that she had never been able to experience, unconditional love and all those fuzzy feelings related to having someone in this world that you could rely on, someone who would back you up no matter what. And Sirius had been that, and she loved him for it, and she knew that had they had more time alone without interference to really get to know each other, she would know more about him. She grieved for her lost chance.

And even though a part of her was raw at the loss of her godfather, there was something that she could not ignore. Something that had, just hours ago, fully admitted to pulling the strings of her fucked up life and arranging it like some sick puppet master.

"_Dumbledore_." She hissed with all the venom that she could muster, pushing all of her conflicting emotions into that one name – the name that could be traced back through just about all of the misfortune of her life.

" '_My plan was working well' _He says! '_An obvious flaw' _he says! _'I _cared_ too much' _he says! Oh sure, I totally believe that it was completely logical to send an eleven year old up against Lord Voldemort! That… _man_ must think that I am absolutely stupid!"

There was a crashing sound, and Rose jumped, wildly looking around. She saw the shards of a vase on the floor and she felt a vicious satisfaction; sometimes just breaking things was a good therapy in and of itself. She had never had a chance to be destructive (outside of fighting Voldie) so she would enjoy what anger at her situation she could before it came time to reassess just how she would maturely handle what new weight had been shoved upon her shoulders.

Fortunately she was in the right place for rampant destruction – she had bolted out of the Light Tosser's office the second he unlocked it (surely there were rules about using magic to detain underage witches?) and her feet had led her straight to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and into the Room of Requirement, which had accommodated her with a very large room that had no furniture aside from the very breakable objects that were arrayed around the edges of the room.

But she had taken no time to admire the scenery – she had been furiously pacing, forcing herself to attempt to objectively examine her life.

She had found it wanting.

Even apart from all that has been mentioned before, she could now see just how naïve and stupid that she had been upon entering the Wizarding World – she had had no idea what she was doing and no one had seen fit to inform her of her position of the 'scapegoat' of their backwards community, sure she participated in a sport that guaranteed you suffer extreme physical harm at least a few times a year, sure she had survived several previous skirmishes with Voldie on sheer luck, sure she had no one who was willing to hear about her home life and that those who had made no effort to remove her from the situation, sure her perceived mentor had been responsible for manipulating her whole life and had probably broken a lot of laws regarding his negligent care of her in the process, sure that Dumbledore seemed to think she really had no chance at all against Voldie (only a stupid person would), sure she had this prophesy pinned on her (that she wasn't willing to believe the veracity of), sure Hogwarts obviously wasn't cutting it in turns of education that would let her survive this war…

Hang on, where was that thought leading?

Rose paused in her pacing.

Her life sucked. Yes, she got that. It seemed a lot of people wanted to kill her, and a lot of people either worshipped or reviled the image of the 'Girl-Who-Lived' and, since she was being honest with herself, would probably never see past the glamour of that title. Not to mention that she had no chance of surviving a war as she was now and there was little chance of that happening if she continued on at Hogwarts.

Hang on. Hogwarts.

Rose frowned and paused, tapping her fingers subconsciously against her leg as she clung onto a thought. She had no chance of surviving Voldie's attempts to murder her with the lacking education standards at Hogwarts. She knew that there were other schools in Europe – Beauxbatons and Durmstrang – so, logically, there should be schools across the world.

But the big question was – did she have the guts to try to find one of them, to 'disobey' the Headmaster's _commands_ and _control_ over her life? Hell yes. What right did he have to pick where she completed her schooling? What gave him the right to decide where she was placed as a baby?

Wait, what did give him the right? It's not like he was her guardian, and now that… _Sirius_ was gone, there was nothing to hold her here; nothing that she felt a particular urge to stay and endure the hell that her life had been for.

Rose bit her lip, a wicked spark dancing in her previously blank eyes as she contemplated what she would need to do to have a chance of effectively ditching the old coot and his Order of the Flying Turkey. Ol' Dumbles had made a grave mistake – _again_ – it would seem.

He must have not heard that 'the worst opponent is the one that has nothing to lose.'

She smirked. He'd learn. And what was better was that he would probably think she was an emotional wreck at the moment – it would be looked over if she withdrew from regular school life for the last two weeks of term. She could only hope that that would be enough time to muddle out a plan of action – it had been too long since she'd been able to drop the stupid persona that she had quickly realised the Wizarding World expected.

Her pacing had all but come to a halt, and now that she had set a course of action – something that she could focus on without going all depressed over the state of her shitty life (because that would be pathetic and didn't change anything anyway) – she realised that the Room had shifted again.

It was smaller than a regular classroom and there was a long desk complete with a comfy chair in front of it in front of her, and the other side of the room held a bookcase – she had no idea of the titles and couldn't really bring herself to care at the moment.

She slunk over to the desk and sat down, suddenly being hit with the realisation that yes, she had been in a life-or-death battle with a dozen DE's a few hours ago and _yes_ she was also possessed by the Dark Tosser. Her body ached horribly and she was surprised that she had not realised it before.

Groaning, she took out her wand and cast a few cushioning charms on the chair and backrest that went a little ways to soothing the bone-deep ache, but also made her aware that she was actually dangerously close to magical exhaustion (with the battle and the number she'd performed on Dumbledore's office it was no wonder, especially when you took into account all the protection wards that Dumbles had on his junk and the fact she'd forced Voldemort himself out of her body and magics) but she ignored it – after all, it had never really been a problem before, and she snatched up the pen that was resting on the surface and pulled the notebook towards her.

Now, she wasn't going to ask just how the Room of Requirement had a muggle pen and notepad, so she ignored it and put the pen to paper.

She paused thoughtfully, tapping the pen against the page before she wrote "The Escape" across it. That pretty much summed up what she wanted to do. Okay, now she had to figure out just what she would need to do it.

1. Money. Very essential. Must visit Gringotts at earliest convenience.

2. Search up Schools. Preferably not in England. Or anywhere near England. Or Europe, just to be sure.

3. Contact school, figure out how to enrol.

4. Obtain passport/identification – possible at Gringotts?

5. Shopping. In desperate need of clothes that are not rags and did not come from a second hand charity bin. They are disgusting and stick out like a sore thumb.

6. Study. Will need to brush up on education – right about now is the time I lament that stupid persona. Figure out what kind of education needed to fit into school.

7. Need to find a way to avoid the Turkey Order – check up on magical detection, find a way around it.

8. Find out if Dumbledork manipulated anything else.

9. Read up on the Wizarding World, especially laws. Make a book on the laws Dumbles has broken for blackmail purposes if needed.

10. Is there a way to spy on Dumbles after I leave? Will not feel good not knowing what he's doing.

Rose paused and looked over the list thoughtfully. It was longer than she had anticipated, but things had belatedly came to her – such as, if Dumbles was willing to stick her in an abusive home, he conceivably would have been able to tamper with other aspects of her life for the 'Greater Good' so it was probably a good idea to check that out. Not to mention have some form of defence if he managed to catch her after she left, and she was ignorant of the hierarchy in the Wizarding World – she'd also need to know the international laws compared to Britain's cause she'd most likely brake them obliviously because no one told her what was 'common knowledge'.

Looking over the list, Rose encountered her first road block – there was no way that she'd be able to accomplish all this on her own, or in the time afforded to her; it was simply impossible to brush up on five years of ineffectual education and the stupid British laws in the two weeks she had before going back to the Dursleys. Not to mention it would be easier if there were an adult that she could consult.

Wait a second.

Rose hit herself on the head for her sheer idiocy.

Where was she? The Room of _Requirement_. In a school. It wasn't farfetched to believe that this room would be able to get her more time – hell, students always needed just that extra bit to study for some class; it was only logical that the Room would be able to do it. But how to find out?

She stood up, steadying herself against the desk when her legs tried to buckle underneath her, and kind of hobbled across to the door (no matter how much she would deny it) with the notebook and pen in her robe pocket and opened it cautiously.

Since there was no one there, she shut the door and let it melt back into stone.

Going on her hunch, she walked the stretch three times, focusing on her need to have a lot more time, as well as the importance that it be uninterrupted.

Her breath caught as the door came back into the visible spectrum. She moved forward eagerly, opening the door.

What did she need? She needed more information.

And she knew just the place to get it…


	20. HP TT: A Girl in the Gang

21 Harry Potter, back to the time of the Marauders – what if there was a girl in that gang?

**Chapter 1**

"Did you _hear_ him yelp? I didn't think Snivellus could make that noise! What did it sound like exactly? 'Cos I know it sounded like something but I can't really place it..." The boy looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling, trying to place the weird noise.

One of his companions answered him in a contemplative tone, tapping a finger to her chin in a contemplative manner, "Oh, I don't know – he could have had a dog for an ancestor."

A snort. "No way! That would be _insulting_ to canines everywhere, and I just _cannot_ allow you to defame the good canine name, little Sammy. I find it _particularly_ offensive that you would wish to do so!" The first teenager said; his voice full of pomp and imperiousness as he exaggerated his words in a mimic of the proper purebloods that most often reside in Slytherin house.

The girl rolled her eyes at her companion's grand words, and made herself heard over the snickering from their two other friends that were trailing behind them and (perhaps wisely) staying out of their conversation. She crossed her arms and scowled a little before waving an arm in a shooing motion, as if trying to swat away a particularly annoying fly, "_Fine_, I will allow the good canine name to survive, but I just don't know if I'll ever get over the _trauma_ of belonging to the same _species_ as him!"

This appeared to be too much for their little stragglers, as at this point they broke out into loud guffaws, their laughter bouncing off the stone walls and amplifying in the way usual for such a large castle with no other people in the immediate vicinity to muffle the sound waves.

The striking black-haired boy next to her had a funny look on his face, seeming to be examining her pronouncement carefully. He was silent for a few moments, before he looked at his verbal-sparring companion and said, "You know what? I had almost managed to forget that, and now you brought it up again I don't know _how_ I'll survive! EVIL! Blasphemy! I don't know how my mind will continue on in peace! Just WHY did you have to bring that up _again_?" He shot his friend a dirty look, placing a hand on his forehead and looking properly woebegone.

The girl beside him with sparkling green eyes that betrayed her sombre visage, patted his arm in commiseration, "I feel your pain, Siri. I feel your pain." Her tone changed with her next words as her pixie-like features brightened up and she pronounced, "So now we can suffer together!"

Sirius Black, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, shot his companion a dirty look, "You, Samantha Ares, are plain evil. I don't know _why_ we decided to be your friend in first year, but we just may be second guessing this decision. Right James, Remus?"

He looked back at the two boys that had been deriving amusement from their latest conversation (argument) reaching for support for his claims.

The two boys, one with dirty blonde hair and an unusual scar across his face, the other with messy black hair and round glasses, sobered up real fast. One glance past Sirius and at one Samantha Ares convinced them that it was in their best interest to disagree.

There was something about their fourth Marauder that made people… nervous. And agreeable.

Even them on occasion, which was a feat considered impossible by many of the Hogwarts Staff.

James Potter was the first to reply, slowly and carefully sounding out his words, "Well, Siri… how do I tell you this? Remus?"

The blonde haired boy, Remus Lupin cast his friend a dirty look for throwing him (ironically) to the wolves, "Well... what James is trying to say is... you're just not as scary as she is, mate."

Sirius was of course properly shocked and appalled at the blunt statement and was about to defend his manly honour before the girl that was now a few paces behind him cackled.

It didn't seem to matter that she was the shortest and smallest of stature out of the four of them, nor that she was able to pull off the 'I'm-as-innocent-as-the-day-I-was-born' look so completely that it fooled even the Headmaster or the perpetually vile caretaker Pringle; her laughing in that manner was _scary_. The male Marauders were united in the firm belief that she could have made Dark Lord Grindelwald flee the country in terror had she been around back then and somebody thought to sick her on him.

It was quite ironic that the female of the group was viewed as someone who was only following the boys into trouble and acting as some kind of tempering agent to their chaos. If anything, it was _her_ fault they got into as much trouble as they did – not that they minded, however. _Samantha_ was the one that suggested that the Slytherin Common room was 'a little dirty' and that they should 'do them a favour' and 'clean it for them'. That this entailed flooding it was merely an added bonus.

Sirius, having been reminded of just _who_ he was teasing, decided that discretion was the better part of valour and shut his mouth with a click, casting a nervous glance back at the girl behind him who had just finished practising her Evil Cackle o' Doom. "Err, can I retract my previous statement?"

He went a little white as he felt an arm slide across his shoulders and looked sideways to see the smirking face of his friend and repeated just a tad faster, "You know I wasn't serious, right?"

The female winked covertly at the smirking James and the clearly amused Remus before slowly patting Sirius' shoulder in a soothing manner, "Sure, Siri, I'll make a note of it – but you ain't gettin off the hook that easily."

Sirius seemed to slump after she removed her hand and continued down the corridor, James and Remus at her heels after sending mock looks of pity at him.

After his moment of duress and realising that he was being left behind, Sirius span around and yelled, "Hey! Wait up!" before sprinting to catch up to his friends.

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	21. HP AU: No Voldemort I

25 HP AU, what if there was no Voldemort? A snapshot into a normal life

Torture.

Pure, unadulterated torture.

It had to be one of the reasons you could add 'and unusual' to 'cruel and unusual punishment'.

Eyes closed, legs crossed, breathing regulated… the worst and most horrible punishment conceived in the third circle of hell.

Yes, the punishment known as meditation.

I couldn't let this slide in silence so I hissed to the person most likely across from me, "This is all _your_ fault."

Even I recognised that it came out sounding far more petulant than first intended.

My older brother's voice came back at me with the time-tested, "Is not."

I raised an eyebrow even though I knew he couldn't see it and was about to make my witty reply when a loud voice cut in from the kitchen, "Do I hear talking? Because if I do, I think we can extend the time you have to meditate."

The threat from the person who had the largest influence over our short lives – our mother – served to shut us up much faster than anything else.

Because we knew.

We knew that she was crazy enough to follow through with that threat. Not to mention that she would probably enjoy the extra peace and quiet.

Oh, suuure they say that meditation will help us with our magic (which, in all honesty we cannot refute) but forcing us to do this every day plus as punishment for anything we happen to pull – it's not like we _meant_ for that box to get stuck over dad leaving him trapped for hours!

But still they insist on torturing us.

'Clear your mind' they say, 'It will help you when you learn magic' they say, 'it will keep the greasy git out of your head' they say. It should be illegal for adults to force eleven and thirteen year olds to be still for an entire hour each day! Well, we don't have a problem with learning that occlumency stuff they taught us – hell, even uncle Padfoot was pushing for that one... it was a very enticing prospect of being able to lie to a person who could read your mind, let me tell you.

Of course there was the other alluring prospect of becoming an animagus – you know, carrying on the illegal tradition of our fathers and trying to beat out their impressive records of the age that they achieved the transformation – fifth year.

The quiet and calm required for meditation shattered when there was a loud knock at the door and a distant shout of "open up!"

Our mum bustled past where we were sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace and yanked the door open. We heard her say, "Nicole!" In greeting, and in return the excited, "Lily!" came back. I couldn't help but grin a little. They had been friends since school and all these years later they were probably even closer. Mum must have calmed down enough to notice that there was someone behind her old friend and she said, "Oh, Nathaniel! Aiden's just in the family room meditating, you can tell both of them that they can stop early today. No point making you suffer for what they did. I swear your father has corrupted my Aiden, though."

It took effort to exert enough control that I didn't jump up and perform a victory dance at that, but I somehow managed to stay silent while one of my best friends replied, "Sure, Mrs Potter. But when will you just call me Nate? You _know_ I hate being called Nathaniel!"

There was a pause in which I knew my mum would be rolling her eyes – she always did that _because_ it annoyed Nate… my mum was just like that.

I heard the loud footsteps step into the room in which we were both sitting still, probably both feeling extremely uncomfortable being blind to whatever Nate decided to do – he was sometimes a bit excessive… we could only hope he'd let us off without a stupid prank, taking advantage of this moment.

Nate drawled, "Harry, Aiden you know what your mum said; you're free! Get up and let's go flying or something."

I grinned and opened my eyes, turning to see Nate's black hair and blue eyes staring at us expectantly. I looked over to my older brother, Harry, and saw he was getting up. I scrambled up after him and said, "So what do ya say, bro? Bit of friendly flying?"

I had to look up to him – he was tall and two years older than me, I had a reason to be short – and waited expectantly.

He walked over and ruffled my hair, which he _knew_ annoyed me, and said, "Sorry, sis, but I'm gonna head over to the burrow and catch up with Ron; Hermione is over there as well and we're going to try to get her on a broom and play some Quidditch. Maybe another time you two." We watched as he went over to the fireplace and took a bit of the floo powder but before he used it looked at us and winked, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

A call of 'The Burrow' was the signal of him leaving and I rolled my eyes, "He just has to have a flair for the dramatics, doesn't he?"

Nate shook his head grinning, "Eh, at least he isn't stuck up."

I found myself nodding. "I guess so. But he still doesn't pull much pranks, you know. He gets in trouble for stuff that doesn't even have good results!"

Nate shook his head, "My dad couldn't corrupt him."

I shook my head in mock sorrow, "Oh, the unenlightened. They just don't understand, and then they end up with frightfully dull lives."

We took a moment before catching each other's eyes and bursting into laughter. Once it subsided, I asked, "Hey, do you know if Jase is coming over as well? It just wouldn't be a race if we didn't get to laugh at his horrid flying."

We both had grabbed a broom and were making our way to the backyard, which was the approved place for such activities – no chance of being spotted by muggles, and large enough for a good game. "I think he's coming; you know how our mums are – they can't pass up a chance to get together to talk. Plus, tonight's dinner's here so I bet he'll be over soon."

I nodded in accord as I mounted my broom. It was a tradition amongst our families that we all catch at least one meal a week together. It started because our dads were such close friends. Not to mention how close our mums had grown – we were kind of like an extended family now, except we actually enjoyed each other's company. Considering how close we grew up together, it was inevitable that Nate, Jase and I would become such good friends – carrying on the Black-Lupin-Potter tradition with flair.


	22. A Short Shikamaru Sidenote

14 A short Shikamaru sidenote

"SHIKAMARU! STOP SLEEPING, NINJA DO NOT HAVE NAP TIMES!" This was accompanied by a fast moving projectile in the form of an eraser. Ouch. What was it with Iruka and throwing stuff?

Hm, it was probably more like 'what was it with shinobi and potential weapons' but it was too annoying to consider, and Shikamaru knew full and well that the First Rule in the Academy Teacher's Handbook was 'An academy sensei is absolutely forbidden under any circumstances whatsoever to kill the kids, no matter how annoying, obnoxious, frustrating, provoking, wearisome, exasperating, aggravating or vexing they are'. That sentence had evidentially been added to a number of times, was in bold, capitals and underlined exactly four times. It also took up a whole A4 square on its own.

He disappeared for long hours at a time, and because he was no one interesting and it was an established fact he cloud-watched hours at a time, no one wondered where he went nor did they suspect he may use the time for training. Or at least most of it… some of it… whatever.


	23. HP TT: The Time Paradox

24 **Harry Potter,** time travel again

**Harry Potter and the Time Paradox**

It's dark.

Oh?

What's that?

A sound?

I thought I was dead…

It's getting louder…

Is it… a motorbike?

...How am I not dead?

Bright green eyes slid open.

The world… it looks bigger than before. I cannot move. I can see a large brown shape. It is never good to be unable to move. Maybe this is what happens when you die?

Hey… I see the night sky. It seems… _closer_… than before.

Harry felt the familiar drop in his stomach that indicated dropping from a great height – learned from his years as Seeker. It hit the ground with a skid.

Hands seemed to clasp around him, and he felt himself lifted… wait a second. That's _Hagrid_… and _Dumbledore_! McGonagall was also there.

…Now this was strange.

He thought he'd gotten the old evil bastard with that last attack! It would be just his luck to finally kill him (after the bastard managed to destroy most of the wizarding world) only to find himself insane or something.

Hmm. They seem to be peering at me.

… I don't remember being so small. Hmm. They were talking.

"…Borrowed it Professor Dumbledore, sir. Young Sirius Black let it to me. I've got him, sir."

Harry could not focus on the conversation as suddenly his (former?) transfiguration professor was leaning over him. Her eyes widened as she stared into his eyes. What she saw there, Harry wouldn't know. He quickly closed them; no matter what weird kind of magic this was, he could not deal with seeing the long dead people standing over him… it was strange.

He heard her whisper. "Is that where -?"

He could only assume she was pointing at his scar, which admittedly felt raw, as if his parent's death just happened. Hmm. Tommie was pretty good, he'd give the old coot that. Never thought the bastard had anything else he could throw back in my face, but then again; the 'Dark Lord' always was the best at torture.

It just wasn't nice.

He'd thought the sadistic scum-of-the-earth had been satisfied by slaughtering his friends.

Damn.

Even though he could not see them, he could still – unfortunately - hear.

"Yes." Said Dumbledore in answer to McGonagall's question. "He'll have that scar his whole life."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

Harry could feel himself getting sleepy. He didn't know what caused it – he'd have to see what he supposedly looked like. He didn't know there _was_ a spell that could do something like this.

His wandering mind was pulled back to the present as the large hands of Hagrid seemed to pass him to Dumbledore. Now _that_ was a weird feeling! He realised with horror that he was currently physically an infant… one that was incredibly vulnerable and there was no way he'd be able to move properly.

…Oh god no.

The revolution that he was probably one in this sick and twisted spell – or whatever the evil bastard was able to think up – hit him like a sledgehammer. He actually wanted to scream. He was a bloody 30 year old man who thought he had finally been able to kill Voldemort when _this_ happens! This is a huge problem.

He hardly realised that Dumbledore had placed him on the steps of the blasted number four Privet Drive, and placed what he could only assume was a letter next to him. Harry could only guess that this was probably like what had happened when he was actually a baby – but that just seemed a bit twisted.

If it wasn't for the whole blood protection thing; he'd probably have been stolen from the doorstep – who in their right mind just leaves a baby on someone's step – honestly! They should have taken him in or something.

While these thoughts were going through the mind of the 'young' Harry Potter, he was aware of the three sombre presences of three of his role models. A part of his mind was annoyed that they couldn't see what abuse and stuff they'd put him here for in the past. For the Dursley family to be pleasant, it would probably take a lot of cheering charms… or maybe something to spike their drinks with… hmm some of the stuff learnt in potions would be good. As long as it ended up with them either exploded – wiped off the face of the earth for the good of mankind – or in a delirious state where they would not be aware that they were actually being *shudder* _nice_.

Ah, well.

He heard Dumbledore's voice, and there was the flash of light that Harry knew to associate with the Put-Outer when light is returned back to their source.

And they all separated.

Leaving him alone.

Well, that's nice.

With nothing to do (being unable to do anything) Harry just fell to sleep, secure in the knowledge that come tomorrow, this all would have been some weird twisted spell/dream, brought on by finally completing his goal of destroying the most powerful (and evil) Dark Wizard of all time in magical history.


	24. HP: Immortal through the Ages

23 HP,immortal – confrontation, semi-naruto cross

-The combination of surviving a killing curse and getting phoenix tears mixed with blood to heal basilisk venom is what gave her immortality.

**Through the Ages**

"I left your arse-wipe society 300 years ago, fucker, you ain't gonna get me back now."

"Oh really?" The blood-sucking leech drawled out his second word, almost turning it into a purr. I was well aware of his holier-than-thou attitude – this dude wasn't used to taking shit from anyone.

He was going to have to be made used to taking shit from me.

The vamp raised an aristocratic eyebrow, smirking and flashing one of his fangs in a cheesy way that you'd expect in some second-rate horror movie, changing his body language to convey the 'you will do what I want' vibe even more strongly than before. Objectively, I could acknowledge that he had the 'Me predator, you prey' melodramatic shit down, but it didn't impress me one bit. All I could idly note was that he was unused to having anyone that was a potential threat around, not even mentioning that he should have known well just what I was capable of – hell, he couldn't beat me back then and he had no chance in hell now. He probably knew it too, but was still acting like the conceited bastard he naturally was.

I decided to ignore him, relaxing into the seat that I had been sequestered in _prior_ to the nut's arrival and knocked down my sake, enjoying the feeling of alcohol soothing my annoyance at being found. That was really the one thing that had thrown me for a loop in this situation; I could see no way in which it would be possible for _anyone_ to track me down. Even _if_ they happened to be a three-thousand plus year old Ancient vampire. And that wasn't me being conceited – I was honestly the best in disguise and deception, because no one in all my years on this planet had ever found me when I wanted to drop off the map – until now. And even if they did, they didn't know it – I'd pop up every now and then under a different life and name, going through a life for kicks before sliding into a different mask and slipping away back into anonymity.

It was silent for a few minutes, and I just ignored him completely, acting for the entire world as if I was in my corner alone and not being harassed by some ancient conceited blood-sucker that had managed to locate me through unknown means.

And I would have cheerfully continued to do so, even going so far as to walk straight out the front door and changing myself again if it wasn't for the fact that tall-and-pasty decided to speak up again. Huh. And they said vampires were patient, what with the whole 'eternity' deal. Psh, all having eternity to do shit in meant is that you get a lot of experience with crap – and build up a jumbo jet worth of enemies. Of course, that's only if you don't hole yourself up in a cave somewhere, like one vamp I knew. Total loony he was.

"I have a proposition for you, Ares."

I scowled a little, and responded in a mocking voice, "Aw, we on last-name terms now, Furano? Huh, you don't look a guy up for a couple of centuries and he starts getting prissy on you, who'd a thunk it?"

The dark-eyed bloodsucker smirked, which I caught out of the corner of my eye, before responding in kind. His voice had that silky edge that all vampires seemed to possess as he raised one mocking eyebrow, "I find myself unsure as you are the last person that I'd care to converse about the intricacies of etiquette with, Calli. Come on, Ankaa, it matters not what I call you – I am sure you have been known by them all at one time or another."

I eyed him sideways for a moment, still obstinately refusing to pay full attention to him. "So we have degenerated from last-names to pet names, hmm? Well, I'm sure I would be glad to reciprocate, Satan Spawn."

I was gifted with the slight widening of his eyes that told me I caught him off guard, which was followed by his chuckles. I set down my third empty glass carefully before turning in the chair to fully face him, a vicious snarl on my lips. "Now tell me what the fuck you are doing here, and how the fucking hell you found me, arsehole."

The vamp seemed taken aback at the violent swing of behaviour, but that was what I'd been aiming for. A little bit of a magical 'helping hand' had him speaking before he could organise his thoughts.

"I'm here to get you to teach at Decrux – or at least offer the position – because I had hoped to get you back into the 'loop' so-to-speak – things are coming to an interesting turn, and I had hoped to have you around for a second opinion, not to mention that I think you'd enjoy this kind of school. I found you on chance, but I have been searching for you for almost 430 years – it is simply more enjoyable to have your particular brand of insanity about, and you are the best at your profession. I found you because you are the only human that I am not able to read memories from – I could only hope that you would not be projecting a false past for legilimens while walking past you. I found this Hidden Continent while tracing a student that had been foolish enough to run, and thought that I may as well search it for you as I know how these people would appeal to you…"

It was at this point that the vamp's eyes widened and he exerted an effort to shut up his running mouth, looking for a moment horrified that I was able to get him to say all that against his will. His face darkened and he _snarled_, bearing his teeth at me in a menacing way, and his magic was pouring off him in dark clouds, no doubt alerting all the trigger-happy shinobi within a hundred miles distance.

I leant back, resting my forearms against the table smugly as he just got angrier at being one-upped by me. Again. I grinned smugly at him, ignoring the doomsday billowing of his not inconsiderable reserves of magic completely and winked at him, cheering mockingly, "She's still got it!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x extra...

To kill Voldemort, horocruxes and all, just keep shooting him with a gun a lot; and hell a gun would probably take care of the anchors as well cos all ya need to do is disrupt the object. Kill his followers and everyone will think him dead and if he shows up again, just shoot him which is bye-bye body.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

A/N: I got the urge to write about an awesome ancient being – a bug I got from Miranda Flairgold's trilogy that starts with 'A Second Chance at Life'. I don't imagine there are many people on fanfiction that are Harry Potter fans that haven't read it by now and are very eager for its continuation, but who knows?


	25. HP: No Voldemort II

26 HP no Voldemort II

This one's pretty much a 'part 2' of the 'no Voldemort' snapshot

"Get ready, they're almost within range."

Green eyes shifted to survey the path from underneath a covering of foliage in silent acceptance of the statement.

Indeed, there was the distance sound of a familiar bark of laughter from up the trail. The owner of the green eyes signalled the third companion, who nodded in understanding.

Three pairs of eyes stared expectantly down the path, mischievous grins fixed upon all three faces.

The moment of truth was at hand.

"So have you got any idea where they ran off to?" Asked a man with messy black hair and hazel eyes that shifted to observe the path.

The man who was laughing earlier blinked then took a glance around, "Eh, they'll be around here somewhere, Prongs. It's not like anything's going to happen."

The third man flinched at the second man's sentence and put a hand to his head, groaning.

This attracted the attention of his two companions who glanced at each other before looking back at the third. Prongs asked quizzically, "Er, Moony? Why did you hit yourself?"

Moony rubbed his temple and replied, "Because every time Padfoot says that –"

A loud screeching noise blared through the surroundings and the three unfortunate victims found something large falling from the sky on top of them.

With a loud crash it hit the ground.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The three women in the area shot up at the loud screech followed by the sound of something large crashing into the ground.

Instincts took over and they ran towards the commotion.

What met their eyes drove them silent from shock.

And then they started laughing loudly at the results of the crash and the conditions of their respective husbands.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was ridiculous.

It was shocking.

And it was hilariously funny.

The three victims of the prank had their arms crossed while scowling at the three observers, most probably because they couldn't quite grasp the brilliant irony of the prank from their vantage point. They just couldn't see the bigger picture.

You see, the thing that had crashed down on top of them was a large version of a kennel, and they were trapped inside, which meant that they were literally 'in the doghouse' as the saying went.

And it was _funny_.

It took a minute and a half for the women to calm down, and even then they were still breaking into giggles when they glanced back at their husbands.

The man with hazel eyes was tapping a finger against his arm and asked irritably, "Are you quite done yet?"

The auburn haired woman with green eyes grinned at the three men and walked towards them, circling the gigantic construction made to imitate a dog house. It even had a name plate, proclaiming its contents 'Marauders.' Moony, Padfoot and Prongs were pretty squashed in there as well, adding to the humour value. The looks on their faces, a mixture of confusion, embarrassment and frustration went a long way towards that as well.

Lily grabbed out her camera and snapped a picture. She had taken to carrying one around for events just like this.

"Oh are you stuck, James?" She asked teasingly.

The man in question rolled his eyes, "Obviously. Just what are we stuck in, anyway? Magic won't work."

The woman with dancing grey eyes and brunette hair fielded that question, "Oh, 'Masters of Mischief and Mayhem,' you seem to be stuck in the doghouse."

James blinked in surprise, hit with understanding of the extent of the prank, and turned to Sirius, "Mr Prongs would like to express his shock and pride at being the victim of such an elaborate prank."

Sirius grinned, "Mr Padfoot agrees with Mr Prongs, and would like to add that it was perfectly executed."

Lupin grinned and said, "Mr Moony would like to congratulate the people responsible for the prank."

Lily shook her head in amusement as Sirius transformed into a dog to complete the picture.

All in the clearing heard a snort that brought their eyes upwards, only to spot three grinning faces staring down at them. The three children high-fived before the girl jumped off the branch landing in a crouch, followed by her companions.

"A point to us." Drawled the brown haired boy with features resembling Sirius and the brunette woman.

The other boy with blonde hair nodded and threw in, "Now, remind me what the first rule of living with pranksters is?"

The black haired girl with green eyes grinned mischievously, "Why, that would be to never say anything that could be misconstrued as a suggestion." The girl then shook her head in mock reproach, wagging her finger at the three adults caught in the trap, "You really have gotten old and out of practise. I'm disappointed in you."

The brown haired boy next to her solemnly shook his head at the adults, as did the blond haired boy.

The women were shaking with laughter while the men looked insulted.

Padfoot had transformed back and said, "So this is what we get for introducing you to the world of pranks?"

Lily's head snapped to the men and she said irritably, "So I have you three to thank for corrupting my youngest child?"

Padfoot and Prongs whistled innocently while Moony rolled his eyes and protested, "Well, _I_ had no part in it, if that's any consolation."

Lily rolled her eyes at her husband and turned to her daughter, "Aiden Potter, just how did you manage this?" She unfortunately couldn't gather up the necessary commanding tone and disappointed look that was involved in 'parental orders' and only managed to sound curious.

"With a lot of difficulty." Came the response.

This was met with chuckling before Lily turned back to the doghouse and said, "Ah, James? Why haven't you got out yet?"

The three had their wands out but had not managed to move their cage or blast a way through it.

"I can't? However they did this, I want to know." Hazel eyes scrutinised the walls that just wouldn't budge.

The brunette woman, Nicole, raised an eyebrow at her son, "Rigel Sirius Black, you better not have been using magic! You aren't even at Hogwarts yet! Not old enough to own a wand! That would be extremely dangerous!"

The third woman, whose eyes were a bright blue, looked at her blonde-haired son and raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms expectantly, "Well, Seth? Do you have something you'd like to share?"

The boys blinked and had surprised faces, "Us? Why, we'd _never_ do anything illegal, mother! Do you hear what they are accusing us of, Seth?"

Seth stared at her mother like she was mad, "Why I don't believe it, Rigel! Just _where_ does she think we would get examples of someone breaking the law? The thought would never cross our minds!"

Both women rolled their eyes, noticing that the 'adults' in the doghouse were actually looking strangely proud of their behaviour.

Off at the side, Aiden grinned watching her two best friends – the three of them were the same age and had been best friends for their whole lives. She was the third child of Lily and James – Harry was her eldest brother, who had just finished his third year at Hogwarts, while Jason – Jase for short – had just completed his second year.

Rigel was the oldest child of Sirius and Nicole Black and had younger siblings – fraternal twins –named Leonis (Leo) and Carina who were two years younger than them. Seth was the oldest child of Remus and Jacinta Lupin and had a sister, Charlotte, who was a year younger than them as well.

All in all, they were the budding pranksters of the bunch; that dream-team combination of Black-Lupin-Potter. Aiden was aware of a fourth member of the Marauders who her dad called 'Wormtail', but he had drifted away from the other three after school.

Even so, Harry did manage to get into a lot of trouble without looking for it at school, nearly driving Lily batty with worry from his latest stunts, not the least of which occurred in first year when he broke his arm in his first Quidditch match when he got hit after time by a disgruntled Slytherin beater.

It was currently summer, and they would be attending Hogwarts come September. Their parents had found great amusement in a comment from the headmaster – that Professor Snape or, as her brothers referred to him – the 'Great Greasy Git' – was drinking more frequently since he heard the news of their impending arrival at Hogwarts. Aiden, Rigel and Seth hadn't been able to catch the exact reason behind this, but were looking forward to testing out some of their designs on him all the same – Aiden's older brothers had nothing but bad to say about the Potions Professor.

Nicole pursed her lips while scrutinising the trio, searching out the lie. "Well, I think we can make an exception, just this once. Although I'd love to know which of you performed it."

All three grinned at each other and the men in the kennel recognised the Marauder sign for victory – they had made up a series of hand gestures to coordinate pranks better (and insult people silently without their knowledge) which they had passed on to all their children… without the knowledge of their lovely wives, of course.

"Well, now that that's done, anyone for flying?" Asked Aiden, diverting attention.

Lily shrugged, "I don't see why not. Just don't fall off and make sure no one sees you."

The three cheered and ran off, and the women lazily started walking back to the clearing where they had been catching up.

Behind them, they could hear the vocal protests of the three men trapped in the large dog house.


	26. HP: Wrong Twin I

27 Harry Potter – wrong twin who lived

**The Potter Twin – Aiden**

It was a scene straight out of a KFC ad – father, mother and son were sitting around the kitchen table and talking animatedly over dinner, smiling all the while. You could feel the warmth and love just radiating off them, making up the picture of the perfect happy and normal family.

Well, that scene was misleading on so many levels that it could make one's head spin.

Exactly what could make such a simple scene so different from the first glance would make an observer wonder, and rightly so.

Well, one glaring difference from a 'normal' family was easily picked – they were witches and wizards able to use magic.

Another difference would be that the small dark brown haired boy with hazel eyes had been famous throughout the world since he was a year old. His title was known to almost every member of the magical community; he was the much vaunted 'Boy-Who-Lived' – famous for living after being hit by the Killing Curse where everyone previously had died instantaneously. And in doing so had destroyed the Dark Lord Voldemort (better known as You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or even He-Who's-Name-Must-Always-Be-Hyphenated) which had skyrocketed his fame throughout Britain – a one year old was described their Saviour. The wizards clung to this new celebrity and story – it had all the good elements of intrigue, miracles and triumph over evil.

Seriously, there was even a series of fictional books with him as the main character, talking of brave feats and his knight-in-shining-armour heroics, apparently a shot at guessing what he would accomplish when he was all grown up.

The story of the night's events was known throughout the world. Voldemort had broken through the wards on their property and blown the door down. That was when James Potter ordered his wife, Lily, to go upstairs with little Dominic Potter to try to escape. James was hit with a bad Bone Breaker curse that had him unable to move and the Dark Lord moved up the steps.

Voldemort broke into the nursery with absurd ease to find Lily Potter standing protectively in front of the crib. They spoke a few pre-death-duel insults, after which Lily fell to the ground, struggling to find a way to remove the slow moving asphyxiation curse that had hit her, having bounced off a mirror on the wall.

With no opposition left, Voldemort had moved forward to the crib to find two children staring up at him.

Yes, that's right. _Two_ children were sitting, completely vulnerable and alone; in front of the most insane megalomaniac that Britain's wizarding populace's prejudice had created in the last fifty years or so. But only one was acknowledged by the world as having ever been that close to the Dark Lord. The Potter children were twins, both having been born minutes apart in St Mungos on the 31st of July, 1980.

Hazel and green eyes stared uncomprehendingly at what would be probably the biggest turning point in their whole lives. But in Voldemort's twisted mind, there was only one child there; only one possible candidate for the Chosen One that the Prophesy mentioned.

You see, there was one large, age-old flaw and prejudice that went back centuries and centuries and would probably never be completely erased.

How could a _female_, a little girl, be responsible for the downfall of a Dark Lord? Sure, any baby was not any kind of threat, but in the future it was impossible to imagine a girl bringing about his downfall.

It was preposterous.

So when faced with the choice between Dominic and Aiden Potter as his future enemy, Lord Voldemort calmly levelled his wand at the chubby little boy that was sucking his thumb.

He gathered all of his hate, malevolence and sadistic pleasure and hissed the fateful words, _'Avada Kedavra'_ a mere five meters away from the baby.

Even Voldemort would not be certain just what had happened next.

The world was suddenly green as the bright flash clouded his vision, making it impossible to see what had happened on the other side. Before he could bemoan his lack of witnessing the actual murder, all thoughts were abandoned due to the agonising pain of having his soul forcibly ejected from his body.

You could say that it wasn't exactly the best day for the Dark Lord.

Back in the cradle, just as His-Dark-Fierceness cast the lethal curse, the little girl had stretched her arm out to try to catch the pretty light, just as babies are wont to do.

She was left with a perfectly carved lightning bolt scar on the palm of her right hand.

Another thing came out of this.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Voldemort had left a piece of his fractured soul behind. The soul had been torn between attaching to one of the twins, and it was this hesitation as it touched both at the same that caused it to be scattered to the winds, leaving behind some abilities in the two bubs but propelled away by their pure and unblemished souls, having lost its chance to anchor itself to the mortal plane.

But no one would know that a little piece of Voldemort's soul had been accidentally left behind that night, nor how close one of the Potter twins had come to being a vessel for a Horcrux.

The backlash of the rebounded Killing Curse proceeded to destroy the wall behind the former Dark Lord. Little Dom Potter was unfortunate enough to get in the way of an overheated piece of photo frame – more specifically the metal 's' off of the original full wording, 'James'. This acted as a brand, landing heavily on the right side of his forehead, leaving an angrily burning but perfectly carved 's' that would not be capable of being moved, even by magic. After all, magic couldn't heal everything, even things as mundane as scars that were in no way associated with Dark Magic – unless you counted the act of heating up the metal, obviously.

This is where the tale becomes clear and straightforward once again. Lily Potter, having been released from the dark curse when Voldemort lost his powers, managed to struggle out of the rubble and get to her children. After a minute of hysterically hugging them she managed to pull herself together and run for the fire place, placing a firecall to Albus Dumbledore.

She would be reunited with her husband after Sirius Black bolted upstairs with the news that he was alive, though with quite a few broken ribs.

Albus Dumbledore arrived in a flash of bright orange robes and bunny slippers, demanding to see the body of Lord Voldemort before he burned it and then to study the twins after hearing a recount of the night. He would see the screaming Dominic Potter who was clutching at his forehead. Once he managed to cast some numbing charms and coax the cubby hands away from the wound he did a double take upon seeing the livid S burnt into it. He knew immediately that Dom was the Chosen One from the prophesy. What would Tom use other than Slytherin's own mark to Mark his competitor, his equal?

He _did_ have evidence to support this theory, however. The wound had traces of dark magic – a concentration of it, different to what had been coating the room.

The public had then been informed, and Europe-wide parties erupted in order to celebrate the one who had ended the reign of terror who was dubbed the 'Boy-Who-Lived.'

In the chaos of organising a Healer for James and sorting out the minor issue of the subterfuge involved in the selection of their Secret Keeper, no one noticed that Aiden even had a scar until a few weeks later, at which point it was assumed to be more recently acquired.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

This tale leads nicely into another difference about the family. There was one member – young Aiden Potter – who was watching the laughter from the outside wistfully. Normally a family would not tend to forget about someone who was so obviously sitting at the table with them.

The KFC advertisement certainly didn't include a quiet nine year old watching from the background.

Fortunately for Aiden, she was of the more introverted type; happy to watch and listen before volunteering opinions. And there was also no way in the ninth circle of hell that she would _ever_ envy her twin his fame. She actually found it extremely freaky when he created a stampede, even though she enjoyed the blind spot that landed on her when this happened – she would use the time to sneak away and get some different things that were probably not what her parents would approve of, and meet up with some friends that would certainly never be invited over for the family dinner, even _if_ she was a main component of it.

Aiden wasn't by any means or description a typical child.

At the age of five she had petitioned her parents to allow her to attend the muggle primary school for her education, a suggestion that Lily whole-heartedly accepted and supported for her daughter. Lily had even tried to convince Dom to go as well, but Aiden's brother was far more interested in playing with his toy broomstick and finding ways to expand his bedtime to start a conventional school – not to mention the fact that James had gotten to him and said that it was really boring. After all, as a wizard he had not attended a conventional school before the age of eleven – he wouldn't see a need.

Aiden had enjoyed her time at the muggle school.

The best thing would have been the fact that they were totally ignorant of the whole 'Dominic Potter the Boy-Who-Lived' thing, and this allowed her to make true friends without the glory hounds mixing in. She also got a taste of a normal life that had nothing to do with the fact that she and her family could use magic – she enjoyed that fame and the magical public had no part in that part of her life.

This early separation from her family gained the five-year-old Aiden a measure of independence, as well as helping with her self-esteem and self-worth. At school, she had a large group of friends as well as being hailed as a 'prodigy' by the teachers. In a desperate effort to keep this part of her life as her own – _not_ Dom's _or_ the public's _or_ her parent's – she had unwittingly used accidental magic when they called down her mother. Instead of her mother showing up to the discussion of whether she could be pushed up a grade or two, a fully working illusion had showed up and agreed to everything, even signing the proper forms.

After the initial accident, Aiden had panicked, worried that her mother would find out about the meeting. When the school year had continued as normal – albeit Aiden in a more challenging class, she had been amazed. She had studied zealously after that realisation in the Potter library – which was accessible from any and all of the Potter properties through a simple series of magically linked doorways – to find a way to recreate the incident, to keep this to herself.

As a six year old, Aiden was greatly naïve in the proper workings of magic. Therefore, a six-year-old would ignore all the irrelevant instructions such as 'wand movements' and all the so-called limitations of magic that are imposed and stamped into the young minds when they attend a magical school.

After all, she had no idea that what she was doing was supposed to be impossible. And in that mindset, it wasn't. Magic has mysterious ways of working – it is undefined. If you were to believe it as such, why are rules and limitations imposed as to what is possible and what isn't? The only limits on magic are the limits that you give yourself. An older Aiden Potter would realise this and be amazed at the limits that wizards gave themselves. But at that moment the six year old was just concerned with making sure that any letters sent to her parents would only appear to _her_.

At a young age, Rose learnt how to forge both of her parent's signatures. She breezed through the muggle education system. The only reason her success wasn't in the papers was the fact that she had gotten her 'parents' to make the school sign confidentiality contract so that none of her achievements would be made public knowledge – or to be more precise, the papers. Wizards would never go any farther than that to check up on muggle news, and Rose knew that it was pretty much unheard of for muggleborn students and graduates to keep their feet in both worlds – European wizards were notorious for taking the 'all-or-nothing' approach – rarely was their a witch or wizard that kept in contact with the muggle world.

Aiden graduated high school with honours at the tender age of nine and a half. She was hailed as a prodigy and had attended the top school in the country on a scholarship. To her relief, it never reached common knowledge or the newspapers.

She had found great amusement in setting up and using a Narnia-like closet that connected to a broom closet at the school that was a direct link to her bedroom as the method of transportation – she had found a book that talked about the doorway trick and something called 'connecting cabinets' and changed it to her advantage, making sure that it would only become a portal to her magical signature, something that was keyed into the Potter doorways, albeit you had to be a Potter. She had destroyed it upon graduating – she was pretty sure that it was illegal even though there were no restrictions to creating connecting closets… probably because the knowledge had been lost to the general public, but still.

And that was how Aiden had gotten to where she was. Sitting just outside of her family's laughter, feeling keenly the immaturity of her brother, Dom, after having been amongst eighteen year olds for most of the last year. She wouldn't trade her experiences with the muggle world for anything, though – she had earned every praise and acknowledgement that came her way and was confident in the knowledge of who she was – something she _knew_ wouldn't have been possible if she only had access to the wizarding world where everybody would be wanting to talk to Dom and marvel at the 'S' stamped into his forehead.

Just because she wasn't as in-the-loop with her family as she might have been had she not experienced the outside world didn't mean that she was ignored. Quite the opposite, infact – she and Dom were close, although not as insanely close that most twins were – they had lead quite different lives, after all; with Dom being sort after and given presents and being mobbed by fans whenever he ventured out to the magical hotspots and Aiden going into the muggle schooling system and generally growing up and independent.

They were as different as fire and ice – Dom was hyperactive at the best of times, joking and light-hearted, whiny about studying, gullible, quick to anger, relishing of attention, trusting and forgiving, always trying to emulate his father… while Aiden was calm, serious, had a vicious temper when provoked, extremely focused and directed, despising of attention born of gossip, trying to be her own person and deviate from the beaten track, brilliant and sharp of wit and easily seeing to the heart of people's motivations. A lot of their traits could be both to their advantage and against it.

Aiden enjoyed the amusement and spectacle that her brother provided, and he was also very obliging when it came to setting up any distractions that she might need in order for her to slip away – provided that she'd later help him prank their father, Siri and Remy of course. When they paired up the house shook in its foundations – sometimes quite literally – although it didn't happen all that often, for which many people were grateful.

Aiden allowed a small smile to cross her face as she leaned closer to her family. Even though they were slightly dysfunctional – after all, she had managed to go completely out of notice of their parents for a large part of her life, which was a result of having to deal with her brother's fame and all the hassles that went with it – she thought it worked for them. She liked having her secrets, of which were quite a few that she knew would never have happened had it not been for the almost total freedom of dictating her life.

There were quite a few things that Aiden had discovered about her magic. The first was that it must have been subconsciously helping her studies. It took her a while to notice that when she read for hours she would sometimes finish and notice that the time only said she had been at it for a few minutes. That was one of the bigger things, but she had also trailed across a book after tripping on it in the library titled 'Occlumency: Master your Mind' which she had studied and afterwards enjoyed an almost photographic memory and improved her understanding of herself – you had to learn to identify and deal with your emotions which had actually helped her grow up quickly in that aspect – lots of adults never bothered to learn to control their temper or rage.

Another thing she had noticed a while after joining a martial arts class was the strange flow of her magic that increased the force of her punches and kicks. She had been dragged into a class by a friend way back at the start of her education and had practically been begged to keep her company. Apparently Mindy's mother was paranoid about her daughter's ability to defend herself and by some twisted 'mother' logic decided that she would get Aiden in on it too.

She had found, three years after starting the discipline, that magic enhanced the physical aspects of it. She had been curious to see just _how _that happened and spent weeks looking for a way to see magic to find out how it worked. She had managed it – through use of something called 'mage sight' – and was down right shocked at what she discovered. She had used it alone first, and after seeing the movements had focused on doing it consciously. She had decided to use it in a lesson and, to her complete shock, saw that the muggles all tapped into magic this way as well. She found that their form was weaker and less consistent generally, but judging by the level that their sensei channelled, concluded that it must build up over time. She was sure that it would be impossible for them to use it for anything else or apply it consciously, but it was amazing that they had discovered how to tap into any magic at all.

After the discovery she had made a point to explore the uses of the magic. She found mention of it in a book, actually – it was described as 'body magic' and was totally legal due to the fact that so little was known about it and that not many witches and wizards could use any form of wandless magic, not to mention the fact that wizards never trained themselves physically. It was 'too much hard work' for a population that harnessed magic and could perform amazing feats with a wave of a wand and a thought. It was truly disturbing to see just how complacent and lazy most of the population was.

The body-magic could be applied to strengthen muscles, allowing the user abnormal speed levels, inhuman strength, the ability to jump extremely high by use of propelling yourself off the ground, as well as stick to flat surfaces – walls, ceilings – as well as balance themselves on unstable surfaces – water, ice, loosely packed snow – when applied properly and through a _lot_ of hard work of refining the ability to put out the right amount in precise doses.

Aiden was lean and slightly smaller than average which was _extremely_ misleading as to her physical capabilities – she had body magic down to an art, just as a lot of people found out in the martial arts competitions she had entered, not to mention the odd person who would try to bully the young 'tag-a-long' in classes she was too young for – although she was mostly tutored separately due to the sheer rate she picked up the subjects.

Yes, Aiden truly was nothing resembling normal.

And that's the way she liked it.

The floo alert call went off and all at the table turned to see a black haired man in his early thirties step out of the large fireplace, grinning like a loon. He was followed a moment later by a ruffled man of the same age although older looking – he had a scar that was prominent on his face and sandy yellow hair.

"Prongsy! I'm home!" Sirius Black practically sang audaciously.

Lily snorted and James rolled his eyes at the statement while Dom jumped up and sprang on the old Marauderer in question only to narrowly avoid knocking them both to the floor. "It's nice to see you too, _Paddy_. It's been so _long_… a whole five hours!" Was the token reply from James as he grinned at the scene his old friend was making.

Remus sidestepped the two and took Dom's vacated place at the table, rolling his eyes congenially.

Sirius shook his head, eyes wide, "Has it really been that _long_? Hmm must have forgotten to drop in and inform you I was alive sooner. Sorry about that – I know how antsy you get when my continued existence is under question." He shook his head sorrowfully at the last part.

Lily cut in then, "Sure, Sirius. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Sirius mock pouted and started to pry off Dom's arms.

James just laughed. Remus turned to the fourth at the table and said, "It's nice to see you down here with the living, Aiden! It feels like we never get to see you between your school and all the time you're doing homework!"

Aiden grinned and stared u at him innocently with wide eyes, "S'not my fault I got a lot of work to do, Remy! But I've finished school now and in a month I'll be at Hogwarts!"

Remus sighed when she referred to him as 'Remy' – one of the twins had called him that back when they were unable to wrap their tongue around 'Remus' and it had stuck – but non-the-less smiled at the exclamation. Really, she spent more waking hours holed up in the library or at school than with the family.

Sirius had managed to shake of Dom and strode over to ruffle Aiden's hair playfully, "It'll be great to have you here, little A."

Aiden pouted and ducked her head. Long hair was a pain to make presentable after someone messed it up like her uncle did! She had silky auburn hair that was naturally set in loose curls that trailed almost to the middle of her back and it was rare that she had them loose because of all the activities she did – it just got in the way.

Aiden saw Sirius glance at her father quickly while her mother wasn't looking. Uh oh – they had some kind of crazy scheme cooking. Something that obviously _wasn't_ going to be good for the future sanity of the Potter matriarch.

Remus spoke up, "Lily, Alice asked me to invite you over for some 'girl time' tonight – Neville's going out with Frank to one of the Auror got-togethers and she said that you needed time to catch up."

Lily smiled and sprung up, kissing James on the cheek as she swiftly walked to the fireplace, "Well, I can't leave Alice waiting now, can I? I guess you guys will have to take care of the twins – make sure they get to bed by eight o'clock and _don't _give them sugar. I'll see you boys later."

Aiden grinned along with the three remaining 'ex'-pranksters finding amusement in the quick reaction from her mother – it was rare that Lily got out to just have fun with her friends as she was in charge of taking care of her and Dom most of the time and thus the reason for her eagerness to leave the men with the twins.

Which was definitely not the soundest of logic, especially considering the strange gleam in said men's eyes.

All was silent as the green flames vanished. And then Sirius grinned triumphantly and said, "Coast's clear, Agent Prongs, Agent Moony. Plan's a-go!"

James' grin matched the black haired man and he turned to Aiden and Dom, who had decided to position himself next to his sister to present a united front against any pranking which was undoubtedly going to happen in the near future.

Remus, Sirius and James pulled chairs out and sat down facing the twins, managing to look extremely serious.

"Aiden and Dominic Potter, you have been chosen to continue the Marauder tradition. First of all, so you accept this honour?"

Two sets of eyes brightened and glanced at each other quickly, both wearing identical shit-eating grins as they cheered, "Yes, of course!"

"Are you sure you are ready to uphold this honour?"

Dom cheered and Aiden raised an eyebrow in a 'get-on-with-it' manner.

Sirius held his hands up in a placating manor, "Fine, fine – keep your hair on! Now, the main component of the Marauder Tradition is that its members must be able to turn into animals – whether that be voluntary or involuntary." The gleam in his eyes could have started fires.

Aiden drew in a sharp breath as she caught the allusion. They were talking about becoming animagus! She saw Dom start bouncing and knew that he had gotten the general idea as well. She couldn't help feel thoroughly that she probably had the best adult influences ever. Really? Ministry laws? Who cares! Even if this did get found out she was pretty sure anyone would shrug it off because of the whole 'defeat of the dark lord' anyway.

She had heard that her father and Sirius had learnt to be animagus on their own without adult help or supervision – which was both extremely dangerous and highly illegal on so many levels that it didn't care to be mentioned. It seemed like they had decided to get them started early and put it under supervision so they could control the transformation so it didn't get out of hand – she knew that Dom was certainly the kind of person to do that to follow in his father's footsteps and she certainly would have wanted to dabble in the art sooner or later – probably would have already had she had much training in conventional magic.

If you thought about it from that direction then they were almost being _responsible_. A very scary thought. That was probably how Sirius and James had managed to bring Remus over to their side.

The three adults spent the better part of two hours explaining the process and telling horror stories of failed animagus transformations to ensure that they would only attempt _anything_ under their supervision.

The first step was to discover if one had a form, which was the easiest once you had the proper supplies. You had to drink a potion that would send you to sleep to search your subconscious and find the animal that represented you. That's why they had started this training now – the potion was ridiculously complicated and when you _could_ brew it/obtain it, you needed to drink it at a certain time – there was also the problem that it had to be in a certain year and when the planets aligned in a certain way… suffice it to say that it was the time that the potion was drinkable and would work to its fullest potential as well as the fact that the next such time was in roughly seven years.

When you found your animal, it would be accessible once you could visit your magical core – which happened through extensive mediation. They had actually had the twins meditating at a young age – Lily joked that it was solely for their sanity, but old pureblood families generally had their kids doing it because it allowed a greater control over magic.

You had to research your animal inside your mind, familiarising yourself with it and also 'accept' it as a part of yourself – just as the animal had to accept you. That was the most time consuming part of the process because you had to manipulate your mind and connect with your subconscious. Once that step was complete, you went on to transforming. You used your magic to 'become' your animal – a mental willing that brought magic to the surface to make a physical representation of your personality. Generally, a person had one animal, but some theorised that it would be possible to have more than one representation of your inner personality because humans were so complex in their emotions.

The men explained all this and more to their rapt audience before they produced two small bottles of a clear blue potion that seemed to be shimmering.

The twins were taken up to their individual rooms before drinking down the potion that tasted mildly like cough syrup and promptly both went into deep trances, to all appearances being in a deep sleep.


	27. HP: Wrong Twin II

28 Wrong twin II?

This could be a part of the story before, but I can't be stuffed to read it so I'm not sure. It's Harry Potter though

=x**x**X**x**x=

Aiden was at the tender age of six when she realised that her parents had forgotten her.

She had seen the subtle signs over the years – every time her mother forgot to pick her up from gymnastics or her martial arts classes had sent a stab of pain and desolation straight into her heart. She had had to learn to fend for herself from a young age – it was lucky that she knew the town because of all the times she had slipped away from the house to play with some of the other children of the neighbourhood so she wouldn't get lost and there would always be other parents to look after her.

It had progressed when her mother had first not been able to take her, and then had forgotten to give her the portkeys to get to her classes.

But she never cried. She stayed silent, bottling it inside, using that pain to become better, always better so that her mother and father _would_ notice her, _would_ remember her and see that she was someone to take pride in.

She had been very happy when her mother had hugged her on her first day of school and whispered 'Good Luck' and 'Always know that I love you' to her before she had left. That had made some of the pressure go away – she had spent the whole day skipping around even while the other children cried for their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters – because she _was_ loved, they _did_ want her.

But after a while her mother had forgotten her again. She would forever remember the day that she had been recommended to skip ahead three years in her schooling and her mother and father had just signed the papers without reading them or congratulating her.

That was the day that she started to make steps towards distancing herself from her parents. Instead of keeping and building on her pain, she worked herself through it with the help of a book she found in the fabled Potter Library – the library that was accessible from every house that the Potters owned through a series of connected doors that could be used by any Potter to travel from house-to-house. The book had landed on her head one time when she was trailing through the substantial library as she was wont to do.

The book was named 'Occlumency: Understanding Yourself and Mastering your Mind.' It took her three whole years to drain out the pain and sorrow she felt with her virtual abandonment from her parents into a calm acceptance. She was eight years old and had distanced herself from her parents and the need for them that a young child generally holds until they are out of the adolescent stage.

There was only one member of the Potter family that she would never forget and would always love – her little brother, Harry. He was the light of her life – so young and naïve to the greater world and yet carrying a weight that should have never fallen to him. The normal upbringing and love that he experienced from his parents was really the only thing that Aiden felt she could thank them for. They had enrolled Harry into a muggle school when he was of age, allowing him to experience the feeling of just being one in a crowd – not the face the crowd is looking for.

Harry never forgot about her. Each night he would call for her to be read a story, or just to say goodnight and 'love you'. He was a cute little kid – messy black hair and sparkling emerald eyes, skinny build and glasses that really made you instantly love him.

Aiden Potter became street smart and self-sufficient at a very young age. She began to intercept the mail that her school would send to her parents about her brilliant grades in school and learnt to forge their signatures flawlessly.

She made use of the ancient Pureblood library that hey all had access to as well as the magical devices that could be taken from the family vault at Gringotts, which was easy with a permission slip from her parents and the family key. They never looked at what she did need them to sign, which was good for her.

The library was semi-sentient because of the amount of magic that it had been exposed to and the countless years it had been operative and Aiden would swear that it would lead her to certain books, after which she could make a copy of the book. She had an old trunk from the Potter vault that was practically a portable library in which she kept the books that she collected, because a fair few were far to advanced for her to understand and other required a wand and being able to use magic – which she couldn't, being only young. The trunk had different compartments; one including a small bedroom and kitchen, which she felt would be good to have when she left the Potters for good.

Magic really was handy, especially when you had access to thousands of magical things that had accumulated in one family – they had far too many things to care about a few things being removed.

Aiden graduated primary school when she was eight and made it into the next year through a scholarship that got her into a prestigious school.

By the time Aiden turned eleven, she was ready to start year 9 in High School _~(Note- equivalent to freshman year of high school in America)~_ and was in the final stages of getting herself emancipated from her parents.

=x**x**X**x**x=

The small form ghosted down the hall, carefully avoiding the loose and creaking floorboards with a familiarity that belied years of practise and repetition.

The form paused as the door across from its position creaked open, breaking the silence of early morning. Its head swung to the small shape just visible from the hall, and with a muttered curse flitted across and neatly into the room, shutting the door behind it with a snap.

"What?"

Green eyes blinked up at the previous sneaker, who had her arms folded across her chest and was waiting impatiently for an explanation. The nine year old jumped forward to throw his arms around his older sister desperately, "Don't go! Don't leave! _Please _don't go and leave me, Aiden!"

The older girl's violet eyes softened and she wrapped her arms around her little brother, rubbing his back to help him through the sobs that were escaping, "Hush, Harry. I have to leave – _no. _I _want_ to leave. I've done so much and gone so far that I'm not going to back out now."

Aiden comforted her little brother for a few minutes and sighed when she realised that he had no intention of letting her go. She allowed him a few more and then extracted herself, leaning down to look him straight in the eyes, trying to convey her seriousness. "Now, greeneyes, calm down. I want you to remember three things. The first is that I'll always love you and be thinking of you. The second is that you have to make your own decisions – never let someone tell you to do something you don't want to. The third is that I'll still be seeing you – you have that mirror and if that fails you've always got Hedwig – she could probably find someone under postal wards or in animagus form. So chin up and remember to have fun, huh? Prank your parents for me too, yeah? Now I've gotta go and remember not to tell anyone."

It was telling that she really didn't refer to James and Lily Potter as her parents. Harry took a deep breath in, and Aiden could see his eyes harden in resolve as he nodded. He jumped on her one more time after she straightened up, making her laugh and ruffle his hair.

They separated and Aiden slipped quietly out of his room, continuing on her way to the front door.

She opened it and stepped outside smiling. She strolled easily down the pavement, turning back to take one last look at the house that she had spent her childhood in. She turned away after a few moments, then pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket, whispering 'bye Harry' to activate the portkey.

It whisked her away from the house at Godric's Hollow, and she was determined to never go back.

=x**x**X**x**x=

Aiden landed in the foyer of Gringotts and, after taking a moment to get her bearings, made her way over to the nearest free counter. "Hey Roper! How're ya goin?"

The grizzled goblin raised one aristocratic brow at her, looking particularly perturbed at the mangling of his name but not at all of the english language, and decided upon shooting her a disgruntled sneer after the split second of pure incredulousness at the address.

She grinned cheekily up at him, "Awe, you know you love me, Roper!"

The glare became harsher, to the point that Severus Snape would be cowering in a corner and Lord Voldemort would mutter about having to 'see a man about a dog' before high-tailing it out of there. Even so, the burgundy haired, violet eyed, eleven-year old girl kept grinning widely before saying, "You're all heart, Roper, and I'll never think otherwise!"

The goblin's lips curled into a snarl for a moment before reaching over the counter and grabbing her arm in long and sharp fingers, dragging her towards the conference rooms past many smirking employees.

Aiden trailed along behind him, seemingly oblivious of the rough treatment, just waving at the human employees who were betting on how long she'd last before the old goblin skinned her alive and cooked her for dinner. The other goblins were ignoring the scene – they knew full well what was happening and were glad it wasn't them.

Aiden was shoved inside a room that the goblin slammed shut behind himself before activating the privacy wards, after which he began a long slew of gobbledegook swear words whilst pacing back and forth in front of the amused girl. He slowed down as he came to the end of all the cusses that he could produce off the top of his head before turning sharply and scowling at the girl. "I dislike you very much."

Aiden was inclined in one of the comfy chairs that the austere room held, her legs resting upon an extravagant hardwood table. She just grinned cheekily at him, "I love you too."

The goblin rolled his eyes and, eyeing her feet and posture, settled himself rigidly in another of the hard backed and generally uncomfortable chairs that were designed to make meetings with human shorter. He picked up the stack of documents on the table and shuffled through them, easily communicating that he was still disgruntled through his body language.

After a few moments checking the document he slid into a professional voice and reported, "The documents that the elder Potters signed have been filed at the Ministry in correlation to the ones at the bank. You have removed the ability of your parents to access the vault they set up for you upon your birth and we are in the process of changing the locks and destroying the current keys that are in possession of one Lily Potter and one Albus Dumbledore. The emancipation has been confirmed and is irrevocable unless an accord is reached between you and the adult Potters." Aiden cheered, causing the so-called 'Roper' to pause and raise an eyebrow.

Emancipation was surprisingly easy to do in the wizarding world – since pureblood families regularly disowned squib children, the system required a minimal amount of paperwork and ministry input – it was mostly a 'no questions asked' type of deal that was a product of the corrupt and generally irrelevant government. Something that Aiden was very happy to be taking advantage of at that moment.

Aiden just grinned, not feeling any remorse or shame for her outburst and signalled the goblin to continue.

'Roper' just smirked a toothy grin and said, "It has been an honour doing business with one such as yourself. I have a feeling we'll be keeping in touch."

She rolled her eyes, "It has been an honour to meet a goblin who has a firm grasp of sarcasm and humour." She replied cheekily, moving forward to grasp his hand in a sincere gesture of thanks.

The goblins respect political power and money. That was well known, along with the fact that they are surly little bastards and capable of great sadism – just look at the form of transport that every person had to use to traverse the tunnels without getting lost! Something that was lesser known was the fact that they also respected people who took control of their own lives and were independent – something that was multiplied by at which age the person was able to mature. That was why the goblins helped Aiden – they could admire the convictions of one that would take their life into their own hands and not rely on old money to get them through life, like so many purebloods did nowadays.

'Roper' reclaimed his seat and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen (they used them because they cost less than parchment not to mention the added bonus of pissing off purebloods and conservatives) and leaned over it expectantly, "All that's left is your name. You mentioned you wanted to change it?"

Aiden shook her head to clear it of her thoughts before nodding thoughtfully and leaning back into her chair. Her violet eyes were pensive as she said, "Well, I can't really use Potter anymore. I'd like to change it so that I'm 'Aiden Dimari' – get rid of the 'Lily Potter' part."

'Roper' nodded and scribbled a few things on the parchment, which glowed gold before the name disappeared. "That changed all the current documents relating to your vault and affairs so that they are under the name 'Aiden Dimari'. The muggle identification that you requested is being completed now; we just need a recent photograph for the passport."

Aiden nodded, "Thanks." She leaned forward intently, trying to communicate the absolute seriousness in her next words, "For everything, you know. You goblins have always been good to me, and I'll never forget it."

The goblin nodded jerkily and a bell sang through the room. He reached over to grab the documents that Aiden would need to get through life – things like her birth certificate, identification, ect – and the things that she would need to access her accounts, which included a savings card that could be used in muggle stores and a pouch that would change to look like any muggle purse that the holder wished that would take money straight from the vault in whichever currency she needed. There were, of course, charms against stealing and to ensure that it didn't give money to anyone other than Aiden.

A few more explanations about working it all out and Aiden was waving goodbye to the surly goblin and walking out the door. She very much enjoyed the astonished looks the human employees sent her upon seeing her in one piece.

There was one there that she _did_ recognise. She bounced over to the man sporting vivid red hair and jumped on his back, securing herself to him, "Bill! How nice and unexpected it is to see you here!"

The tall and lanky twenty-five year old looked over his shoulder only to see the excitable red-head that he remembered seeing fairly frequently over the last nine years. "Aiden! What are you doing here?" He knew better than to ask where her parents were, knowing that she would just use the floo whenever she wanted to get to the Burrow and they would only miss her if she took Harry as well.

She grinned and touched her nose, winking, "Nope, that's a secret there, Bill! When did you get that earring? Your mum's gonna hate it!"

He managed to shake off the small excitable girl and smiled at her, "About two days ago – do you like it?"

She reached up and tugged on the fang lightly, "Yeah, it's cool! Hey, could you tell the twins good luck for Hogwarts? Tell em' I'll write!"

Bill raised an eyebrow, "Why would you need to write to them? Aren't you going to Hogwarts as well?"

Aiden crinkled her nose and shook her head, "No! I'm going to The Academy of Magic."

Bill blinked uncomprehendingly at the eleven year old. He stuttered, "W-what!"

Aiden shook her head and bounced on her toes excitedly, "Yeah, the Academy sent me this really long letter and all these instructions and I accepted! I have to go meet a representative for the school and they're gonna take me shopping then we're gonna go to the airport to take a flight to wherever it is! Pretty exciting, huh?"

Bill could only stand, shocked, staring at the girl. Only the best of the best were offered a place at that school, and they hardly ever asked anyone from Britain because they really needed children who already knew about magic _and_ kept up with their muggle schooling – which almost never happened because of the separation from muggles that was hammered into the wizard families which were most likely to produce a child with the proper level of magic.

She was still rambling on, "… but I have no idea where it is – well no one does – and this'll be my first time on an aeroplane! How exciting does that sound, Bill? Er, Bill?" She waved her hand in front of the man who was staring at her, uncomprehending.

He searched for something to say, but only managed weakly, "Ero-plain? Er, hold on, that's great for you, kid. I bet you'll have lots of fun. Take care of yourself, hey?" He put a hand on her head reassuringly and she nodded then jumped up to give him a hug.

He squeezed her slim shoulders and then let her go, after which she waved and turned to walk out of the bank.

=x**x**X**x**x=

Aiden smiled as she was out in the sun on Diagon Alley. It was good that she'd gotten to see Bill as this way her adoptive family – the Weasleys – would know where she was, and that was good. Molly was more worried about her wellbeing than her own mother, so it was fortunate that she'd know where Aiden was when someone inevitably noticed that 'oh, Aiden isn't actually at Hogwarts… well actually, she never enrolled…' yeah, at least she'd be out of the country when that happened.

The red-head trailed down the steps, dodging people as they made their way inside to collect money for their school shopping. She made her way directly to Whitby and Bramston's Café, which was where she was supposed to meet the representative from the school.

It was a small pub with a nice casual atmosphere and Aiden could see that many teenagers chose it as a meeting place. Her eyes trailed over the occupants as she made her way over to a table that was empty. She had ordered a drink when someone sat down across from her.

A hand was extended and Aiden glanced into a smiling face of a girl who looked about nineteen years old. She grabbed the hand as the girl said, "Hey, I bet you're Aiden, right? Well, I'm from the Academy – name's Billy."

Aiden grinned a little and said, "Yup, that's me! Nice to meet ya Billy. So, what do we have to do?"

Billy leaned back in her chair with a sigh, "Well, that's really up to you. We've got a few things we have to do, but most of em' can get done once we get there. All I have to know is that you have everything you need for the year." She looked around for some trace of belongings as if expecting them to pop up out of thin air.

Aiden reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out something roughly the size of a matchbox, "Well, this holds everything I own – the thing is a life saver in regards to carrying stuff around. What else did we have to get?"

Billy looked at the trunk with a fair bit of disbelief – there weren't exactly many of them around nowadays and the trick of making them had fallen from general practise because it took a lot of magic and mathematics to get the spaces to fit together _and_ keep it light all the time, not to mention making sure that the gravity of whatever is in it doesn't get wacked out when someone was carrying it around – you'd end up with smashed furniture and things all mixed up whenever you opened it up. But she quickly disregarded it and stood up while motioning for Aiden to do the same, "That saves us a lot of time. Don't worry about getting yourself a wand – they are just popular in Britain and most of the students at the Academy use what's called a 'focus' – they can be more attuned to the person so no one else can use it. I guess we can just get everything when we get there – unless you want to buy the books for a bit of reading on the way over?"

Aiden put some money down for her drink and shrugged, "Nah, I've got a few fiction books that I can read on the flight. So that's it? We really just go?"

Billy was kind of amused that the girl was so blasé about leaving the country and said, "Yeah, pretty much. I've just been here for a few months visiting family – lots of people don't bother to leave the area while they're enrolled because they can cut down the amount of time studying there. We just have to catch a flight to America then we should be able to get a portkey over there. You've got your passport right?"

Aiden rolled her eyes, "Yes, Billy – I got it just before you got here actually."

"Good. Let's go then."

=x**x**X**x**x=

A _very_ long few flights and a portkey later and Aiden found herself standing upon the island that housed the famed Academy of Magic. She had been amused to find out that it was situated where the muggles call the 'Bermuda Triangle'. Another interesting fact is that it wasn't just a school – there were many shops and a large town of witches and wizards that lived mostly in harmony with each other, not to mention the large amount of squibs and muggles that helped keep the island running. It seemed that there were definitely some spells expanding the amount of space the island allowed and it was beautiful.

Aiden had spied a fair few people around her age arriving with older students and guessed that they were there for the same reason as her. She looked up to Billy for some indication of what they had to do now and noticed that her guide was waving over a very tall teenager that had an eleven-year-old trailing behind him.

Billy grabbed the teen in a hug while talking a mile a minute and Aiden caught his name – Van – before giving up on understanding much and turning her attention to the other tag-a-long. He looked about her age but was taller than her by at least a head. He had brown messy hair that fell into his grey eyes and seemed a bit uncoordinated – like he could trip over his own feet at any moment. Aiden grinned at him and gave him a small wave, "Hey. My name's Aiden and I guess we may as well talk since our guides have gotten a little sidetracked, huh?"

He gave her a lopsided smile and drawled, "I guess so. I'm Riley. Huh. You'd think people get smarter when they get older, but then you'd just get disappointed over and over again."

Aiden moved around their now kissing guides and rolled her eyes, "I'd have to say I agree. Don't they know _the_ Rule of watching over children?"

Riley quirked an eyebrow in question, "Just one?"

Aiden huffed and rolled her eyes, "Fine, the Golden Rule for looking after _me_." A smirk painted itself on her face as she glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, "_Never_ take your eye off me – that's just _asking_ for trouble."

A couple of… _adjustments_ later and Aiden was impatiently waiting for Billy to remember what she was _supposed_ to be doing – after all, she had just been cramped on a plane for _ages_ damn it, she just wanted to find somewhere she could rest without forty other people being in the same space.

Riley was looking somewhat impressed when she finished and he looked at her nervously, "Remind me to not get on your bad side when you learn some magic to make your pranks worse –that's pretty humiliating and you managed it without using a single spell."

Aiden did her evil smile and buffed her fingers playfully against her shirt, "Well, what can I say? I'm just awesome like that."

"And modest too."

Aiden eyed him before speaking pointedly to her supposed guide, "Er, Billy? You mentioned something about supplies?"

Billy seemed to regain herself and she blushed a dark red while muttering, "Oops." She cleared her throat and glanced at the two of them before saying, "Well, I guess we can show you both around and get what you'll need together."

The two kids agreed but rolled their eyes when Billy and Van joined hands before cutting through the crowd and heading towards the shopping district.

They had fun browsing through the shops and getting their supplies – they needed the proper potions ingredients and a cauldron, as well as books for their subjects, robes that they would wear over normal clothing for the school uniform, and a whole bunch of other odds and ends – they were each convinced to purchase mobile phones and laptops that ran off magic – apparently they were almost a necessity on the island.

Last they were taken to the shop in which they would get their focus.

"Okay, so generally a focus is something unassuming – you hardly even think about it, but as long as you've got it on it brings your magic 'into focus' – it allows you to consciously access it much easier. It's different to a wand – the wand acts kind of like a bridge that connects you to your magic, allowing it to move out easily with the proper movements. Foci pull your magic so that you can access it by yourself. After a while you'll kind of just ignore it and it'll be second nature." Billy explained.

Van continued, "They can be anything from a tattoo to a bracelet to an earring – it just depends on you. The older students usually come back and get more for specialised courses to allow greater control over their magic when it grows. But enough of the lesson – lets see what you get."

They were met with a relatively young woman who was lounging behind a desk who looked up at them with a grin, "Ah, more little chickadees who're buying their first focus, huh? Well, we better get this over and done with, yeah?"

With absolutely no prompting the woman sprang up and shoved two sheets of completely blank paper into Riley and Aiden's hands and then just waited.

Aiden just stared at the bright woman – who, in her opinion, was acting roughly like Dumbledore on a sugar high – like she had three legs or just suggested adamantly that grass was orange with purple stripes. Riley however was staring at the paper in his hand, which prompted Aiden to do the same.

Writing was appearing on the paper. Aiden read: _'Hair ornament, single strand braid. Beads of wood: Eucalyptus, Birch and Purpleheart soaked in Augurey tears, as well as Holly, Cedar and Hazel.'_

She raised an eyebrow at the list of beads that were apparently going to become a new part of her appearance and glanced at Riley's paper which was more straightforward: _'Earring positioned in left ear. Black Onyx gem set in sliver stud.'_

The woman grabbed the paper from both of them and glanced at them gleefully, "It's been _ages_ since I've got a chance to grab out the ole beads and stuff around with someone's hair! Thanks for that, red. The earring's easy, I just hope you don't mind a bit of pain, brown."

And with that, the excitable woman wheeled around and into the back room and they could hear her shifting stuff around. The two eleven-year-olds just stared after her, dumbfounded, before turning to the older – and thus hopefully more sane and reasonable – members of their party. "What the _hell_ is she _on_!" Managed Aiden, who was inching away from the workroom and checking that she still had her hair.

Billy and Van were watching them amusedly and Billy consented to reply, "Oh, she's like that with everyone. Couldn't tell you what she's on, but there are many different bets on exactly what it is up at the school. Only thing the principle cares about is that she doesn't stuff it up, and she's been doing it perfectly for years. But yes, there's definitely something off about her, and she calls people by their hair colour most of the time."

Aiden and Riley stared at the door nervously, and it didn't help that when the woman came out she had an insane smile on her face and a needle in her hand and some jars full of beads trailing behind her of their own volition.

"Bugger." Was all Aiden managed to say.

=x**x**X**x**x=


	28. HP: Abandoned

29 **Harry Potter** abandoned

=x**x**X**x**x=

1. Prologue: She Didn't Notice.

Aiden Potter was almost three years old when her brother, Harry Potter, became the Boy-Who-Lived at one year of age.

There was no doubt that he was the Boy-Who-Lived – only he and his mother were in the small cottage in Godric's Hollow the night that Voldemort broke through the Fidelius Charm and Peter Pettigrew was discovered traitor and killed.

James had been out celebrating Halloween with his best friend, Sirius Black, by braking into Hogwarts and setting up a few pranks targeting unsuspecting students and teachers. His and Lily's firstborn and only daughter, Aiden Lily Potter, had been on a sleepover at the Weasley house with her two best friends, Fred and George, at the time.

In the year that followed, the two young parents found themselves under great scrutiny from the wizarding world as a whole and loved for the deeds of the youngest member of the Potter clan.

Lily found herself unable to deal with all the press and well-wishers on top of caring for her two young children – she was afraid that one would be lost in the massive crowds that a simple family shopping trip would attract, and she didn't want that to happen. She had a brilliant idea that came from her muggle background – Aiden was old enough to be joined into extra-curricular activities that would take up some of the hours in the week to give herself a little break from the rambunctious toddler, and it would also allow the child to better know and understand muggles along with making friends that wouldn't know of their family's fame and renown.

Lily signed Aiden up for a list of classes: gymnastics, martial arts, guitar and singing lessons – the ones that were the most popular in Godric's Hollow so that she would also be able to get to know more mothers in the town.

This arrangement worked out well for a while. By the time Aiden was four, she had a good group of friends and was experiencing a resemblance of a normal life. But Lily began to find it hard to transport Aiden to her activities because she seemed to be having to spend more time looking after Harry – he attracted a lot of attention and she didn't want him to have a large ego and superiority complex when he grew up. It seemed like more and more she would have to give Aiden a portkey that would take her to her classes.

Over time, she hardly realised that she often forgot to give her daughter the portkeys that had let her get to classes.

She didn't notice that her oldest had started getting herself to classes – be that by running or learning how to catch muggle transportation and fend for herself.

When Aiden was five, she signed her daughter up to a muggle primary school, and dropped her off on her first day with a hug.

She didn't notice just how fiercely her daughter held her for that hug, just how much her daughter cherished the simple gesture of affection that had become somewhat few and far between in the young girl's life.

Over the years, she didn't notice that when Aiden had once ran to her looking for approval and praise with her brilliant grades in school, she now received no word from the school about her daughter's education.

She didn't notice that her daughter had skipped up a few grades, or that she was far becoming the best in her extra-curricular activities.

She didn't notice the hurt and betrayal that shone in her daughter's eyes when she would forget to set a place at meal times for her, nor when she would forget to congratulate her daughter on her birthday.

She didn't notice how many hours her daughter spent in the library or locked up in her room, and she didn't notice that when her daughter turned eleven she left the family with the intention of never coming back.

=x**x**X**x**x=

A/N: Well, everyone seems to write a story in which the BWL has a sibling that's forgotten, whether that person is or isn't the real BWL. I decided to jump on the bandwagon and spin my twists. Hope ya enjoy. This first chap's more of a prologue/introduction, an outline of an idea of just how someone could 'forget' their child amongst fame/responsibilities and an outline of the basics of my protagonist's early years from a parent's point of view. It's just short but yeah.


	29. HP TT: Teaching the Marauders

30 Harry Potter time travel. **Teaching the Marauders**, this time

x.x.x

**Description: **All Harry Potter wanted to do after defeating Voldemort was go for a holiday somewhere to forget the cost of winning. Too bad no one took that into consideration when they sent him back to 1976.

**Time's Shift; Fate's Kicks**

"Excuse me?" Harry Potter made a show of expressing his utter disbelief by raising his eyebrows and continuing bluntly, "Has the stress finally gotten to you old man?"

The old man just smiled that maddening smile – the one that lets you know that he knows something you don't – and Harry was tempted to test out the man's occlumency skills one more time.

How he despised those twinkling eyes – it always made him want to grab the old wizard and shake him till the answers fall out.

Unfortunately, that was not acceptable behaviour in a civilised conversation with an old friend (who would have guessed?), so he viciously squashed that particular urge and waited for his former headmaster to explain his newest batty idea.

Albus just continued smiling, ignoring the frustration of his former pupil, "Harry my boy, calm down. I do believe that I am very much as sane as I have always been. And this would be a good vacation for you."

Harry couldn't resist rolling his eyes, "Sure, Dumbledore. But what do you mean – _me_ teaching? As if! The kids would be staring at me the whole time, not listening to a bloody word! It would also mean that the press [shudder] would be able to find me! I swear that they are scarier than old Tommie! I can't go anywhere without someone collapsing at my feet and proclaiming me their saviour – it's ridiculous! Do you realise that the 'Situation' at Gringotts was caused by that?"

Albus was chuckling at the frustrated twenty-year-old. Imagine comparing the press to Voldemort? He shook his head, "Harry, I'm sorry to say but that _is_ what generally happens when you destroy a very powerful dark wizard. Trust me, I had the same problem after Grindelwald. That is why I am offering you this position and a new experience. It is a unique offer and should be considered as a well-deserved holiday for you."

Harry raised an eyebrow, extremely sceptical of the offer.

"Sure, I bet." He stared right into the old headmaster's eyes, trying to decipher the second or third motivations behind the so-called vacation. It _was_ obvious that there had to be more reasons for it, so he said carefully, "Explain, please."

Albus smiled, "You would be taking the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but there is one catch."

"Go on." Harry prompted.

"It would be approximately 24 years in the past."

Harry's jaw dropped. He tried to gather his wits and asked, rather weakly, "… And that's… _possible_?"

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly at he popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "I believe so. All you need do is keep the portkey with you at all times – it will transport you back to now after a year – this will give you a break from all the press and allow the world to adjust to the absence of Voldemort, and you will be under much less danger from Death Eaters seeking revenge. I believe your father and his friends would be in their sixth year at the time."

Dumbledore handed a gobsmacked Harry a ring, which he obligingly slid onto his middle finger. It _looked_ normal – just a plain band of gold. Harry looked back to Dumbledore, suspicious, "So, what's the catch?"

Dumbledore's lips twitched, "Ah, my boy, you are too suspicious! The rule is that you cannot tell anybody that you are from the future; well, you know the laws of meddling with time, and the consequences. You must not lose that ring – it would leave you with no way to return home. I just ask that you try to pull yourself together – you are _not_ to blame for their deaths."

Harry's green eyes darkened at the mention of their deaths. He had lost everyone close to him; they were targeted first. He took a calming breath and squashed the urge to become melancholic. That didn't help anyone.

He nodded seriously to his former headmaster's words – it wouldn't do to mess around with the past; it was not to be trifled with.

After thinking about what Dumbledore was suggesting, he sighed and acquiesced to Dumbledore's idea. "I think it might just do me good to get away for a while."

Dumbledore smiled and picked up some papers off his desk, handing them to Harry and explaining, "These are your qualifications and an alias – for the time that you are in the past, you will be known as Harry Riley. There is an explanation as to your 'past' which you can embellish and build upon to make your story more credible. I need you to change your appearance – you are too similar to the Potter's for it to go unnoticed, even under a different name."

Harry raised an eyebrow, curious as to why Dumbledore picked out the surname 'Riley' but didn't question verbally – there were just some things that Dumbledore kept to himself, or were a product of… questionable… reasoning.

Harry glanced quickly over the notes on his supposed past, and was amused that Albus had made him originally Australian – interesting. Apparently, he had moved to England when his parents had died… ironically of a car crash. His mouth twitched. Trust Dumbledore to make things interesting.

Harry winced a little when told that he would have to change his appearance – he had limited metamorphmagus abilities – which had come to light when he entered Auror training (he found out that it was the way he had kept his hair despite Petunia and her sheers) – but Tonks had apparently neglected to ever mention that reforming your face tended to hurt a lot if you hadn't used it much… which he (of course) hadn't.

It was also complicated by the fact that you had to get the 'feel' for the ability, and though he had been using it in an attempt to ditch his stalkers regularly, he hadn't quite gotten to the stage that it was second nature.

He also had never been able to move or get rid of his most distinguishing feature – his lightning bolt scar. He grimaced as he focused on changing his hair brown and eyes blue, along with correcting his vision. He shifted his facial structure a bit, and he was set.

Dumbledore nodded approvingly and raised his wand in a sweeping gesture, explaining, "That was just to change your name 'officially' – it's a little known spell that ensures that if someone were to check a certain piece of enchanted parchment or any other identifying spells that it would identify you as Harry Riley."

Harry nodded his understanding, grinning at the thought of the Marauder's Map – something that just happened to presently be stashed in his backpack along with the rest of his worldly belongings… expanding and lightening charms were extremely useful. Hermione always did know her stuff, and taught Harry how to do the same.

Harry picked up that bag and pulled it so that it was resting on a shoulder, than glanced nervously at the unassuming ring that was resting on his finger, wondering if he was just as mad as Dumbledore.

Maybe it was something that every wizard or witch caught when they defeated an extremely powerful and dark wizard? …He'd have to look into it.

It _must_ be, for him to actually be going along with this crazy plan.

Harry was broken from his thoughts when Dumbledore said, "Just one more thing, Harry."

He looked up, and something about his expression made the headmaster chuckle softly.

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling as he said the last parting words to the time traveller, "Good Luck."

Harry blanched at the almost smirk that was the last thing he would see of his former headmaster in a long while, and felt the jerk of the ring pull him into the past.

His last thought was 'Just what the hell did I manage to get myself into now?'

Harry Riley arrived at his destination by falling flat on his face with a headache the size of Hogwarts.

He groaned and reluctantly pushed himself up onto his elbows.

Narrowing his eyes against the glaring sun, he cast around for any clues that could help discern just where the hell he was.

It would seem as though Dumbledore had dumped him in a field.

Just. Great.

The old man seemed to be keeping with a theme of utter insanity.

Just bloody brilliant.

He sat there for a while, collecting his scattered thoughts.

Now, what would be the first thing to do when you find yourself stranded in a field like a UFO just decided to drop you there?

They really should make checklists for this kind of thing.

He shook his head to clear it. He just had to accept whatever madness he had gotten himself into this time. The only thing that could make this situation worse would be if some of Voldemort's lackeys showed up.

At this thought he took a quick look around.

Murphy's Law, "If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong" seemed to love following him around and kicking him in the ribs whenever possible.

Upon seeing the misty – but very empty – field once again, he calmed down.

After some deliberation about the possible courses of action he should take in conjunction with his headache receding in intensity, he had a sketchy idea of what to do. He decided that he had to check the current date and recent events so that he wasn't appallingly lacking in knowledge – that would be suspicious.

Which would entail reading the Daily Prophet.

This, in turn, would entail a trip to Diagon Alley.

Harry stood up unsteadily, brushing some grass off his jeans. No matter how long he stayed in the wizarding world, he would always feel much more comfortable in so-called 'muggle clothes'. It had something to do with how practical they were – no one ever tripped over pants like he'd seen some wizards and witches trip on the edge of their robes.

Not much dignity involved in falling flat on your face, nor was it conducive to running away from your attackers.

He did a quick check of his bag to make sure everything was still packed away, as well as a quick check of his appearance – had to make sure the changes had not been disrupted by his travels, and to ensure that the scar was hidden by his hair.

Everything turned up as it should be, so he quickly shoved the small mirror back into the bag and slung it once again across his shoulder before disapparating.

He arrived about a five minute's walk away from the Leaky Cauldron, and used the time to prepare himself for any questions he may receive.

When he happened upon the small pub that was easily dismissed, he smiled. It seemed like the only thing that had changed about it in the future was the amount of dust and dirt that had gathered – perhaps Tom, in his youth, was able to keep the place clean as well as be bartender.

He shook his head once again – who knew that travelling to the past could cause persistent procrastinating? He steeled himself and pushed open the door.

A few hours later and he was lounging out the front of Whitby and Bramston's Café with a stack of Daily Prophets, wondering just what he'd been worried about. It was the realisation of a dream he'd had ever since he turned eleven and became aware of his celebrity status – no one really cared about what he did; the only kind of fuss that he'd created was a raised eyebrow at the odd request for a lot of past issues of the Daily Prophet, all of which were just given to him for free since no one had any use for them.

It was a new experience, and one that found him a little off-balance. It was the general _lack_ of attention. Sure, he didn't revel in his celebrity status – it was usually a liability – but he hadn't noticed just how much he had adapted and been used to the constant feeling of eyes following him. He found that even the reactions he got from people had changed – he hadn't even noticed that people responded to him differently because he was the fabled 'Boy Who Lived' – wherever he went, people were usually either extremely polite and nice to him, or there was the other end of the spectrum where Malfoy and his ilk resided.

Now, people were neutral; he received neutral looks and his fame did not colour people's perceptions of him. He found this an exciting concept – here, no one expected him to be the hero, the saviour, the _anything_.

Here, he was _just_ Harry Riley; a wizard from Australia who had a talent for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Nothing special – no one worth trying to catch a glimpse of or disrupting to ask for their autograph. No Rita Skeeter manipulating and bugging his conversations to sell papers.

He was, for the first time in his life since the tender age of one, completely anonymous.

And it felt good.

And weird – he mustn't forget weird.

As he scanned the papers, he was sobered by the columns that were devoted to all the casualties of the war. Names of mysterious disappearances were spread throughout the older issues, and Harry could see the gathering and building up of these occurances. People gone without a trace. Harry also read about the name 'Voldemort' appearing in the paper, the name recurring more and more, then the first appearances of the Dark Mark above victim's homes.

Curiously enough there were also threats in the Daily Prophet supposedly issued by Tom – lovely things, for those who like demands to 'purify' the wizarding race via killing 'mudbloods'. It was in an issue from about six months previous that Voldemort was first called 'He-who-must-not-be-named' for the first time, and Harry raised an eyebrow at the writer – an undercover Death Eater, if he remembered the name correctly.

Hm.

Of course that was how the ridiculous 'You-know-who' business started – instigated by Voldemort and his cronies. It didn't help that he had committed a public massacre of muggle-born wizards at the time that was well publicised– that was what really pushed him up on the threat scale.

Harry discovered that there had been a more recent battle between the Ministry and Death Eaters that Voldemort himself had appeared, leaving ten of the aurors dead.

Harry had heard about Voldemort's rise to power, but it was different when you read it and it was actually happening around you. He knew that it wasn't war at the moment, but it would probably break out within the next few years – before his birth, most likely.

Harry put down the last of the pages two hours later, a feeling of grief and sadness tight in his chest – these were the acts of terror that Voldemort thrived on which bred the horror amongst usually rational people of one man, so that they could not even speak his name without flinching.

All this was bad, but Harry could see that at the moment Voldemort's actions had not escalated to the level they would be in the future– he had not allied with the giants, werewolves or dementors just yet. Harry knew that Voldemort would not reach the height of his powers until 1979 – about two years from now.

It was possible to see that the crimes were all part of some grotesque strategy game; nothing Voldemort did at the moment lacked a purpose – it seemed that Voldemort did not actively seek out muggles to attack – they were caught in the crossfire, and he had not read anything like the Bridge Massacre or others like it. Well, that and the fact that there didn't seem to be widespread corruption in the ministry – Death Eaters had not had the time to gain as much influence in the Ministry – although it was obvious that there _were_ some in the Ministry.

Harry shook his head to get rid of those thoughts and grinned before wandlessly setting all the Prophets on fire.

Ah, talk about therapeutic.

He never really did get over them calling him mentally unstable and a Dark Wizard.

With some effort, Harry committed the recently learnt facts to memory so he would know what people were talking about if the topic ever came up. He then emptied his thoughts; it was no use dwelling on the past, especially when it happened years ago.

Harry sat back and looked at the sky, just revelling in the atmosphere – there was no tension in Diagon Ally despite the fact that Riddle was terrorising half the country; he was not yet strong or crazy enough to waltz into one of the strongest magical sites in London. Tommie still had to get rid of some of the strongest light wizards that went against him.

That was another good thing about 1977 besides the anonymity, Harry decided; there was no stupid prophesy declaring that only one kid had to kill the Darkest wizard of all time.

As far as people were concerned they had a chance at defeating him (not to mention the fact that Voldemort hadn't committed some of his more infamous misdeeds), which meant there was resistance.

That moronic prophesy was generally the seed of a lot of problems faced in the future.

Harry rolled his eyes at that thought. Got Dark Wizard problems? No biggie! We'll just send in a kid less than 1/3 of his age!

Did no one ever think that that idea was more than slightly moronic?

No.

But that's just the wizarding society, unfortunately.

Everyone is at least a little off their rocker.

Harry's brows creased in thought and he ran a hand through his hair. He just had a brilliant idea.

Harry smirked. The wizarding world had expected him to fight off the Darkest Wizard since Grindelwald ever since he joined it and they accepted the fact that he had been reborn.

He really needed a holiday.

Nay, he deserved a holiday!

What if he just went and rested on a beach somewhere in Australia for the year?

Now _that_ sounded like a good idea!

The sky was getting darker as Harry toyed with the idea of skipping out on the DADA job – it's not like Dumbledore of this time was expecting him, after all – and the plan was sounding better and better.

Harry Riley smiled and, leaving the money for his meal on the table, picked up his bag with the intention of taking a holiday after he had a look around Hogsmeade.

He disapparated cheerfully, anticipating a year of no responsibilities.

After all, nothing could come of a quick look in near the school, right?

Chapter 2: Unique application process

Harry Riley appeared with barely a sound in Hogsmeade, glancing around with curiosity.

It appeared the same as always, discounting the window displays. He could see Hogwarts in the distance and could feel the ambient magic that the large school exuded. Actually, the amount of magic in the air was probably the reason that Hogsmeade was the only all-wizarding village in Britain.

Harry grinned and strode purposefully towards the Three Broomsticks – by his reckoning there should be a young Madame Rosmerta running the pub, and he couldn't resist getting a look at her.

After all, a woman who had teenagers crushing on her in her forties would most likely be a knockout in her twenties. It was curiosity and the promise of firewhiskey – alcohol helped to take the edge off the losses of his best friends – that was his motivation to enter the lively pub.

Definitely not brooding over the loss of said friends.

He could probably also get a room for the night, since he obviously couldn't start that holiday at the late hour.

Harry had received his firewhiskey and was drinking it idly at the bar while observing the other occupants who were quite loud and cheerful.

He had to admit that it was nice to know that there were customers other than Hogwarts students that frequented the pub.

Harry felt warm and relaxed by the time the door opened next, prompting Harry to reflexively glance over to see just who had entered the inn. Recognising the person, Harry was forced to select a few choice swear words and silently curse his rotten luck while simultaneously keeping his head directed away from the newcomer.

For who should enter the pub but Albus Dumbledore?

Harry internally groaned.

_Of course_ the man that asked him to go to the past from the future (not that he knew it) would walk in at just the right time to catch him there.

What else would be expected from Albus Dumbledore?

Harry was mentally calculating the chances of just being left alone as per the 'normal people' etiquette – you know, the unspoken rule that says you don't just walk up to someone you don't know and start talking.

And then he felt Dumbledore stride into the pub a sit down right next to him.

How silly of him? He should have remembered that something as normal as staying away from strangers would not be observed by the questionably sane headmaster.

Harry really felt like banging his head upon the counter at that moment. What was it that caught the old man's attention?

"Hello. Good evening we're having, don't you think?"

'Now he's talking to me.' Was the thought that entered Harry's mind. He carefully put down his firewhiskey and rubbed his scar in irritation. What was it about him that just tempted fate to want to deal out all those 'worst possible situation' things? What was it about stupid life that meant he couldn't just go hang out somewhere for a year?

Hell, if he managed to get away from this conversation without somehow having to do something for the old coot he'd eat his hat.

Harry mumbled something noncommittal in response to Dumbledore's words that the man must have taken as an invitation to continue speaking.

Harry could almost feel the man's twinkling eyes boring into him, even though he couldn't see them. It was unnerving.

"So, what is your occupation at the moment?" Dumbledore asked casually while sipping a glass that Rosmerta had just handed him – apparently he was a regular.

Harry exercised control by preventing a wry twist of his lips and took a large mouthful of firewhiskey.

Why did this stuff happen to him? "Well, I've just been doing casual jobs around the place. Haven't really got anything more permanent at the moment."

Harry was mentally kicking himself.

He could practically feel the interest radiating from the old headmaster, not to mention the soft tendrils of legilimency attempting to probe his intentions. Checking he wasn't a Death Eater no doubt.

Harry gritted his teeth and employed the harder method of occlumency – hiding the information that would communicate to Dumbledore that he was suspicious, came from the future, his magic level ect and brought up the things he knew the old man would be looking for – his strong loyalties, general position on the side of light and the firm beliefs that someone had to go up against Voldemort, and that the Dark Lord's ideologies were plain stupid. He also left his competence in Defence Against the Dark Arts up as well, tweaking the memories to change the surroundings in which he had acquired his education.

Harry still hated legilimency but recognised that it was a time on the verge of war when you couldn't really trust anyone – and since he knew what the likely things Dumbledore would be looking through, he just put them up and concealed the deeper things underneath his shield. It was the ultimate form of deception – Dumbledore had no idea and was able to accept him as trustworthy.

Which he was, of course.

Not like he was suddenly gonna turn around and start killing people randomly while performing the obligatory evil laughter.

As if!

That would wreak havoc on his vocal cords.

All thoughts of turning homicidal aside, the tendrils had disappeared and now Dumbledore was smiling like all his dreams had been answered.

Which, if Harry was operating upon the correct assumption, they probably just had been.

"Well, Mr…" Dumbledore started genially, trailing off while fishing for Harry's name even though Harry knew all too well that the unasked question was unnecessary.

Harry placed a curious expression upon his face – it was no reason to be rude to the younger Dumbledore when he had no idea of what he'd done in the future – and said promptly, "Riley. But please call me Harry – I'm only twenty after all."

Harry experienced the full force of those twinkling eyes somewhat reluctantly, but the old man just continued happily, "Well, Harry, I was wondering if you would like a more permanent job?"

Harry forced himself to look interested and prompted the headmaster to continue.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster for Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. How would you like to be our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? Something tells me you have the qualifications..." He trailed off enigmatically, almost revelling in boyish delight.

Harry had to say he probably would have been convinced by the 'Mysterious Powerful Wizard' routine had he not been aware of the legilimency.

As it were, he had to force himself to raise his eyebrows in feigned surprise or suspicion, then grin as if it were an exciting prospect. Harry reluctantly reached into the bag that was leaning against his stool and dragged out the papers that Dumbledore had given him, handing them to the current headmaster. "Well, it seems you are correct. I would be honoured to get a teaching position at your excellent school, headmaster, if you think my qualifications are suitable."

Dumbledore happily looked through the parchment and Harry eyed his firewhiskey longingly but knowing he was expected to focus his attention on the headmaster.

A few minutes later and Dumbledore handed back the qualifications and formerly accepted Harry as the professor of DADA. They worked out what Harry would earn for his stint as a teacher and then talked about nonsensical things over a few more drinks.

Finally, Dumbledore stood up and said, "Well Professor Riley, how about we go and get your rooms organised? I can also get you more settled in before the students arrive – you have about a week to get acquainted with Hogwarts. I daresay you'll enjoy having a look around."

Harry nodded in acceptance, turning to pay for his drinks while Dumbledore made his way over to the door. Harry grimaced when he knew the expression wouldn't be spotted while he picked up his bag, slinging it back over his shoulder comfortably. He took a calming breath before turning around to trail Dumbledore up the path towards Hogwarts.

He couldn't help but understand the mostly poor quality of their Defence teachers, if Dumbledore always picked them from some pub.

Yes, that explained the dismal competence of the teachers completely.


	30. Of Time Travel

31 This next one is actually the musing that writing time travel fics got me to write – my inner monologue just wouldn't let it not be written. I looked it over, and even though it's not really to do with fandom at all, I guess you can read it if you wanna:

x.x.x.x

Time Travel.

An extremely ambiguous concept and highly improbable to anyone that actually has the most basic understanding of common sense.

Common Sense would dictate astutely: 'Time goes forwards, right?'

People theorise that time travel would be possible if you were able to exceed the speed of light, a frankly impossible feat.

Theories about time are many and each and every one impossible to prove or disprove – they develop from the age old question: what if?

Does Time go in cycles? Does one event link to an event way back in the past and join you up there?

Is time parallel? Meaning that alternate time lines that were made from different events and choices might run alongside what is happening in the here and now?

Are the universes in which we visit in dreams real and we only have access to our alternate selves for fleeting moments of our subconscious taking over and allowing our conscious to slip into another that is similar?

When we die do we get recycled to play through the same events, or have we been recycled from the past? Or do we just cease to exist and all that we have done and accomplished suddenly means nothing; worthless against whatever challenge meets us as we become nothing and everything; lose what tethers us to this world and place and know no more?

What _is _the next adventure, the thing that happens when your physical body no longer holds you to the world?

None of these questions can be answered.

At least by anyone who will remember it for any great amount of time.

We all have as much or little of time as we perceive; many people have a lot and accomplish little, while other people have little and accomplish a lot.

The scales tip, the clock ticks, and every breath many be your last.

Will your life echo through the ages?

Will you be one of many referred to as 'the general public' or will someone remember your name for your actions?

The builders leave their buildings; mass carvings and a testament to the resourcefulness of a civilisation that continues to prevail. The structures will be needed until they crumble or cease to have a meaning in the new world.

The teachers leave their students. They are always remembered by their students; the impression they gift to the young people is impossible to remove and has a fair influence on their lives, in turn influencing their children's lives, if even through a lesson.

The writers leave their soul, their perspective of the world in which you frequent, their thoughts and reactions to the present day.

Everyone must work to sustain a society; the majority of which must abide by the laws governing that society for it to function correctly.

That society is seen through many perspectives; it is many things to many different people.

People research what it was like to walk in the footsteps of people that lived their lives, ghosts that walked on the ground you use, that many in the future will walk in your place.

Time continues. Time does not stop and wait patiently for you to live it.

Chance meetings, rain falling, the smell of fresh roses, the crashing of waves on a golden beach: time continues and you grasp to your own time on Earth and attempt to make the most out of what you are given.

Nothing is eternal.

Everything shifts, threads dancing an intricate pattern that pulls together lives and livelihoods, women, men, children; the next generation in the tapestry of humankind.

At this moment the world a warmer place to live, the issue of Global Warming that really seems to be true and everybody who has time or is in the position in charge of doing something about it.

The stock markets are at an all time low, families are finding it hard to make ends meet as factories close and jobs end as the owner attempts to optimise profits while minimising expenses.

Problems come and go, but so far mankind has continued.

Only time and someone in the future will be able to know if it continued any further than the time that you stopped worrying.

=x**x**X**x**x=

_Okay, I think I was a bit strange on the... 24th of October 2009 when I wrote that. Huh. _


	31. HP: Yet another BWL mixup

32 yet another Harry Potter BWL mix-up thing

x.x.x.x.x

"NO! Get away from my babies! Take me instead! You can't hurt them!"

This desperate plea from the mother that stood defiantly in front of her one year-old children had almost no impact on the ominous figure swathed in black robes that gave the appearance of allowing him to slink along the shadows that were the result of the figure's destruction of the lights in the hallway.

Actually this is not quite true; the black-clad being seemed to carry a darkly amused aura as he stepped into the nursery room that the woman had fled to at her husband's urging. The towering creature examined the woman in front of him as another would examine a dog; trying to decide if this was the one you wanted or if it would be better to move on.

Blood red eyes glinted from the shadows of the black cloak and seemed to look through the woman at the two small children in the crib. He allowed the moment of silence; seeming to derive enjoyment from listening to the woman's harsh pants for breath and the shaking of her body in obvious fear. Long, thin white fingers caressed a thin black stick almost delicately as he regarded the woman in front of him as he assessed the situation. When he spoke, his voice was truly terrifying.

"Stand aside, _girl_. You need not die this night – I am after _them_. You can walk away and no one will know, but for you and I." The red eyes flashed to the tiny figures in the cot, not really surprised to see a set of eyes staring back.

The woman's emerald green eyes widened as she shook in fear, but stood stubbornly in front of the cot, moving her body only enough so that she could shield the children better before responding vehemently, "NO! You'll have to _kill_ me to get to them! I will not allow you to hurt them!"

The amused aura that the evil being in front of her vanished, to be replaced by a hissed snarl as he brandished the stick and pointed it at the woman's head. The voice carried an undertone of hissing, reminding the terrified woman of a snake as he snarled, "So be it, foolish mudblood."

The man swept his wand in a precise motion, and enjoyed the widening of the witch's eyes as the red light impacted with her head. He continued to himself as he smirked down at the unconscious woman, "…But death would be such a terrible waste. I feel that you will have a greater appreciation of what it means to be terrified after you see your children dead. Lord Voldemort does not suffer resistance."

The being stepped over the collapsed woman, almost curiously examining the children in the cot. Both the brats were awake now, and two pairs of green eyes stared back at him.

"Hmm…" The being tapped his wand on the wood of the cot absentmindedly, talking to himself as he regarded its contents. "Now, which could it be? How is it that an infant would be the one to oppose my power? Which is it?"

The eerie red gaze staring down at them was enough to upset the one on the right into tears; the sound breaking the dead silence of the night.

Voldemort turned to see that the other stayed silent, ignoring the cries of his twin and staring almost solemnly up at the invader into his home. The being raised a curious eyebrow but made his decision, levelling his wand at the child's heart.

Steady vivid green eyes stared into the infant's as he said, "Goodbye, young Potter. It is a pleasure to not know you. _Avada Kedavra!_"

The green light flashed, and almost before Riddle realised that something had gone wrong he was thrown from his body and forced to flee as a spirit away from the scene, murderously confused as to how this came to be – what had happened?

Barely ten minutes after the conclusion of the soon-to-be most famous and mysterious night in recent memory for wizarding Britain, three people were unknowingly asking exactly the same question as the shade of their greatest enemy.

James and Lily's expressions were drawn and they seemed to sag as they sank into the seats across from their former Headmaster.

"D-Dumbledore, I just, can't believe that anything like that could happen to Alice and Frank! I mean, what will happen to young Neville? What if the Death Eaters came for us? Joseph is in real danger – I mean, all of them will try to retaliate for his defeating their Lord! And what about Harry? He's an innocent in all this; we need protection!"

Dumbledore gazed solemnly at the young couple, thinking his words through carefully as he regarded the parents in front of him. "Now James, Lily, I believe that you are safe where you are; I checked the Manor's wards myself and I believe that there is no way for Death Eaters to penetrate them. I had advised Frank and Alice against leaving their safe house and there is nothing I regret more than not arguing with them a bit more and impressing upon them the very real danger of retaliation. But there is the question of what to do with young Harry."

Lily looked bewildered as she instinctively clutched the toddler on her lap closer as the aged man's gaze settled on her child. She glanced at James and was confused to see his angry but resigned expression as he glanced down at his son. "W-what?"

Albus looked at Lily with a sympathetic expression as his gaze flickered to James for a moment before he turned his attention to the young woman again. His voice was firm as he started. "Lily, Joseph Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived; he survived the Killing Curse where no one has before him; he defeated Lord Voldemort only a week before and he is Famous in the Wizarding World – he will grow up in the spotlight, and wizards and witches everywhere will want to know his life; will hold expectations of how he will grow up and what he does in life. That is regrettable, but unavoidable."

Lily had tears in her eyes as she gazed desperately at Joseph, who was sleeping in her husband's arms. Her gaze was pulled back into the steady gaze of Dumbledore's, and she noticed that his eyes were devoid of light. He continued relentlessly, turning his gazed pointedly to Harry, who steadily met the old man's stare. "What kind of life would Harry have, living in the shadow of his twin brother, the Saviour of the Wizarding World – after all, that is what the Daily Prophet called him not two days past! Sibling rivalry is always fierce, and he would no doubt feel neglected. He would be a target of Death Eaters for his brother's deed, and he would no doubt grow bitter by being called 'the brother of the boy-who-lived'."

Albus gazed sadly at the boy sitting silently in Lily's lap, very aware of the grief in both of the parent's eyes as they imagined the life that their son could have. Lily had silent tears trickling down her cheeks, and she pressed a kiss to Harry's messy black hair. He pushed on before they had a chance to rally a response, "But I have an idea that could give young Harry his best chance at life and at the same time keep him safe and away from the danger of retaliatory attacks of Dark Wizards."

Both the young parent's gazes flicked almost desperately to their former Headmaster's; they wanted a way to avoid this prediction of their son's life.

Albus Dumbledore was very careful about how he articulated his next sentence. "We hide Harry; we make sure that he cannot be found until he is better prepared to understand why there are people out to get him; why his brother receives so much attention; why he needs to be careful around strangers. But until then, he will have his best chance at having a normal childhood; he will not have to worry about reporters or cameras or the press, just growing up."

James and Lily's expressions brightened the more Dumbledore said – a normal life for their son was all they could ask for. James cut in, "What is it that you are suggesting, Dumbledore?"

The bearded man's blue eyes twinkled as he said, "Harry Potter should be hidden in the muggle world, I believe that Lily's sister has a child around his age and would be an excellent substitute for you. We just have to make sure that his existence is not discovered by the press – which means that we will not have any contact with him until he attends Hogwarts when he is eleven. It's his best chance at a normal childhood."

Lily's jaw dropped slightly at the thought of Harry being cared for by her sister, but she didn't really see any problem with it – after all, they had disagreed so long ago, and she would no doubt be a good mother, what with how well she had mothered herself. She found herself agreeing to the separation – it was not like ten years was a long time, and she considered the muggle world a better place for her child to grow up in – at least then he would go to a formal school.

James agreed, and Lily shrewdly guessed that Dumbledore had previously approached him with the possibility before this meeting – how else would he be able to think logically about the best chance her child had?

She still cried over Harry as she carefully passed him over to Dumbledore at the man's prompting, feeling as though a piece of her was being ripped away. She suddenly had a cold feeling of ominous premonition, but ignored it – after all, what could go wrong? Dumbledore was going to explain to Petunia why she had to take Harry in, and all would be Good.

Curiously, it never even occurred to the Potters that they may be making a terrible mistake; that leaving Harry to his Aunt was basically abandoning him to an abusive life that would be far worse than anything that could have happened to him in the wizarding world.

It never occurred to them that Albus Dumbledore would just drop Harry off at the doorstep with a letter full of enough pounds to pay for his care for the next ten years, with a bit on top of that along with a short two-sentence explanation and veiled threat to take in their nephew.

It never occurred to them that Harry would be told from an early age that his parents had died in a car crash caused by his drunk of a father.

It never occurred to them that Harry, upon discovering that his parents yet lived would grow to hate them as the ones who abandoned him without explanation.

It never occurred to them that Harry would discover magic before his Hogwarts letter.

No, it never occurred to them at all.


	32. HP TT: Becoming Harrison Jones

33 Another time travel fic, Harry becoming 'Harrison Jones' – this one's Marauder era too

_Mooney, Stalker, Padfoot and Prongs_

**The Marauders Map**

Platform 9¾ was eerily silent at 9am on September 1st. One young boy surveyed the scarlet steam engine with something akin to nostalgia, an expression that looked curiously out of place on a child so young.

But there was no one around to comment on the strange expression, and the boy with messy hair approached the train alone, guardian conspicuously absent. He made no sound as he slipped aboard and chose a compartment near the back of the train, even though the front ones were more popular.

He watched as parents and students slowly trickled in from the muggle world, congregating in groups as friends met up after the holiday break to exchange stories and various anecdotes of their time apart. People grinned and waved, children rolled their eyes at their parent's actions and waved goodbye while hanging out of windows or entrances.

He eyed the stiff and formal partings between high-classed families and the tearful goodbyes of those that were not concerned with upholding an image from his seat at the back of the train.

The platform was crowded at ten minutes to 11pm, and he spotted the last-minute arrivals dashing to the train, harried parents trailing behind in an attempt to inform them of their inside-out shirts or the stain on their pants while carting along their chosen pets and luggage.

Things like, "Love you! Don't forget to write!", "Don't get in trouble for _at_ _least_ three weeks, please? For me and your father? That wouldn't be too much trouble now, _would it_?" and "_Mum_, why does Jenny get to go? _I _want to go to Hogwarts!" were shouted as the steam engine's whistle blew before it lurched into motion, temporarily throwing all the students still standing off balance.

The boy was staring out the window unseeingly as the door to his compartment loudly opened, easily alerting him to the fact that someone was standing in the doorway.

He turned to stare at the boy standing awkwardly in the doorway, waiting silently for some kind of prompt as to why he was standing there.

The straw-haired boy shifted uncomfortably under the queer gold-eyed gaze and started to say "Er… I was won-"

Whatever that sentence may have been, he was interrupted as he pitched forward, shoved from behind by two boys who dashed into the compartment after him and slammed the door after them, holding it shut.

The boy that had been on the train for two hours raised an eyebrow at the sudden intruders and was ignored. He sighed and offered a hand to the first boy, who was sprawled out on the floor of the cabin dazedly.

The boy blinked, seemingly disoriented by the gesture, but grabbed the hand gratefully all the same and pulled himself to his feet. He looked back at the boys who seemed oblivious to the fact that they had pushed someone over and invaded the compartment and were in the process of making faces through the glass at an older boy that was sneering at them.

"Are you ok?" The gold-eyed boy asked concernedly, staring straight at the boy that stood uncomfortably in front of him.

"Er… yeah." He glanced back at the boys that seemed to be celebrating at having avoided the boy before looking back at the seated boy. "I was just gonna ask if I could sit in here… there's hardly any other empty compartments so if you don't mind…"

The golden-eyed boy rolled his eyes and indicated a seat, "Hey, I don't mind at all – gotta meet someone, ya know?"

The other boy's stance seemed to lose dome of its rigidity as he let out a quiet sigh in relief and smiled, offering a hand. "I'm Remus Lupin, and thanks – you've got to be the first nice person I've met."

The boy grinned slightly and took the hand, "Well, good to meet ya. Name's Harrison Jones."

It seemed that the two boys had realized that they weren't the only ones in the compartment, as a voice broke into the conversation loudly, "I'm James Potter, and it is good to meet you!"

The other boy cheered and inserted, "Sirius Black – but you better not lump me in with my 'family' – load of stiffs, they are." The boy huffed and slid onto a seat without asking for permission, as did the other intruder.

Harrison and Remus shared a glance before looking back at the boys. There was an uncomfortable silence before Harrison broke it, "Er, Sirius? Not that I don't believe you and stuff… but what do you mean about your family? I've never heard of them…" He trailed off in confusion as he noticed the three other boys were staring at him in disbelief.

"How can you not have heard of the Black family? You know, Dark, through and through – no offense, Sirius – heh, next you'll be saying you haven't heard of Dumbledore!" James was quick to voice his disbelief.

Harrison looked thoughtful, "Um, isn't Dumbledore the Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

Sirius seemed to choke a little before the light of realisation appeared in Remus' eyes. "Oh! You're a muggleborn, aren't you?"

Harrison lifted an eyebrow, "What's a muggleborn?"

The explanation and consequent explanations, coupled with sincere wide-eyed recounts of the wonders of the wizarding world – most notably Quidditch, Diagon Alley and a few other attractions and shopping places, not to mention a reciprocated description of living amongst muggles with the careful avoidance of mentions of family, started up an easy and enjoyable conversation between the boys.

The four boys were interrupted by the sound of the door being opened.

"- and there are just so many colours it's out of this world! I mean, it's awesome fun and you get drenched no matter what you do – one time, I pushed my younger brother in and -" Sirius' latest tale was cut off as the boys turned towards the door.

It was a small girl with dark red hair and green eyes stood in the entrance, looking a bit uncomfortable being there. "Um, I was asked to check if you guys had seen a black cat anywhere? My friend accidentally let it escape, and she is distraught – it was a gift from her aunt, you see." The girl's voice trailed off as she blushed slightly, obviously not used to having so many people listening to her.

James Potter's rude reply drowned out anything the other boys would say, "Humph. I don't know why your friend has a stupid _black_ cat – doesn't she _know_ how much bad luck they are? Anyway, the door was _closed_, meaning we didn't want anyone to come in, so I don't know how you got the idea a cat could even get in."

This brash reply seemed to knock the shyness out of the girl as she reddened, but this time from anger, if the shaking fists were any indication. She glared at the reclining boy, getting in his face, "Arg! What idiot believes those stupid good-luck bad-luck superstitions? You have _got_ to be extremely gullible. And you don't have to be so _rude_ about it! You couldn't have just said 'oh, sorry, but we haven't seen a cat', could you?"

James eyes had widened and he had moved back in his seat in fear of the red-haired spitfire. The other boys were snickering at their friend being told by a girl. James seemed at a loss of what to do, and just glared at the girl in front of him.

The impromptu glaring contest was broken by someone coughing from the doorway. Attention shifted to the blond-haired girl in the doorway. "Hey, Lils! We found Marvin, so I came to look for you 'cos you hadn't come back – we thought you were lost or something! Come on, some of the older students said we had to get in our uniforms because we'll be at the school soon."

The girl sniffed and threw one last glare at James before following her friend out of the compartment.

James stared at the empty doorway for a second in disbelief, muttering, "Bloody hell! What's wrong with her?"

Sirius' renewed laughter broke James from his thoughts, and Remus and Harrison exchanged glances before the former patted the boy on his back consolingly, "Mate, if you can ever answer that, you'd be rich."

James looked at the golden-eyed boy hopefully, pouting when the others in the cabin laughed at him. He got up and reached for his trunk, "Come on, that girl said something about getting ready to get off…"

Sirius, Remus and Harrison managed to choke down their chuckles before reaching for their own trunks and shutting the door.

Harrison Jones observed the three boys with an indecipherable expression, unobserved by the gaze's subjects.

He wondered just what the future would hold.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

It was while Harrison stumbled through the dark with his fellow first years that just what had happened really hit him.

He was really in the past, he was _really_ a ten year-old and he had _really _just met his father, Sirius and Remus on the Hogwarts Express.

For Harrison Jones was really – or _had been_ – Harry Potter.

He had arrived in the past just over two months ago, and nothing had really managed to sink in, until that moment on the train as he met pint-sized versions of the only Marauders that mattered.

Hell, before he had been yanked through – or accidentally tripped through an unfortunately placed rip in time – he had been pushing 30 and fairly content with his life on the run from his zealous fan base and rated as the most eligible bachelor by Witch Weekly for the sixth consecutive year – not that he didn't curse the damn publication to hell for that.

After the whole 'Voldemort' deal had been taken care of, he'd just been too used to running around and far too afraid of what might happen should he be caught by particularly scary 'fangirls' to stick around anywhere for any decent amount of time. He'd been at Ron and Hermione's wedding, named godfather to their first child Hugo (who calls a kid such an unfortunate name as _Hugo_ anyway?) and spent a year as half of a wacky duo with Luna Lovegood combing untouched wilderness for strange and previously unknown creatures.

Hell, he'd even spent a bit of time mucking around with some muggles in the States hunting the 'supernatural' and generally encountering the weirdest stuff he'd seen since the nightmare inducing vision of Voldemort in his birthday suit – _seriously_ that was a sight of unspeakable horrors that _refused _to be obliviated and/or buried underneath previously unheard of layers of occlumency.

He mentally slapped himself for even thinking of the event again, even though he had managed to make it blurry and just fuzzy enough to choke back a horrified scream and the urge to curl into a ball and rock back and forth, muttering _'make it go away – away!'_ that right there had been the subject of just over a years worth of therapy.

But that was what he got for meddling with that vile mind-link before he had fully understood it.

So anyway, suddenly finding yourself X amount of years in the past in the body of a ten year old was quite the shock to the system.

It was even stranger when he stumbled across a tragic accident involving a ten-year-old Pettigrew falling to his bloody demise off a broom at the local Quidditch Pitch from a few thousand feet – his mother was screaming bloody murder and crying even as she apparated the unmoving body to the Emergency ward of St Mungos hospital.

He could honestly say that he had nothing to do with it.

Nothing at all.

Although he _may_ have had something to do with a bloke called Tom Riddle that found himself locked up in a magic-resistant prison for a few weeks before the three horocruxes that he had already made were destroyed with a basilisk fang that he had… happened upon (he _certainly_ hadn't accidentally snuck into the Chamber of Secrets from a pipe in the Forbidden Forest while forgetting that he had a rooster with him and thus killing the huge thing and yanking out a few fangs).

Tom Riddle, incidentally, was killed after his Horocruxes through _accidental_ mishandling of one of the aforementioned Basilisk fangs.

*Cough Cough*

Harry could tell you that it was a huge pain in the arse to maintain a magically resistant prison for a few weeks – no one ever mentions that you should drug prisoners just to keep down the death threats and ranting that afore mentioned prisoners seem to enjoy – it was a recipe for a headache of epic proportions. He won't even _mention_ the untold horrors of waste disposal and cooking for said prisoner.

He shook his head and focused on boarding one of the boats with James, Sirius and Remus.

What had been was no concern of his – it seemed like Fate or whatever drunken party of gods 'up-there' that had dictated his life had decided that he would have a second shot at life, and he wasn't going to waste it away thinking of his farce of a first – hell, he'd be _old_ by the time his friends were attending Hogwarts.

He was looking forward to hopefully recreating (or was it 'creating'?) the Marauders and giving hell to teachers and students alike.

The little grin on his face would have sent alarms ringing for any of the professor's inherent sense of incoming chaos.

Harry Potter – now Harrison Jones – was a natural agent of Chaos and Disorder – any form of Organisation and Stability automatically fell to his inability to differentiate between laws imposed for safety and laws that are integral to the continuance of the universe.

•◊**ΰ◊•**

Chapter 1

The Great Hall was magnificent. The enchanted ceiling perfectly reflected the blanket of stars, the countless candles illuminating the hall, adding an aura of mystique and, for lack of a better word, 'magical' feeling to a lot of the first year's first encounter with the wizarding world. Harrison couldn't summon up the same level of awe as his classmates – this being a scene that he had been desensitised to over the years of his schooling – but he _could_ appreciate the lengths that the professors and house elves went to in order to make the entrance memorable.

He was also not intimidated by the stares of the older students – after all, anyone who had to suffer the hype related to celebrity status gets used to people staring at them and forms an automatic defence – in this case it was to ignore them and hope they go away.

He could see the Slytherins – he had found out that it was a kind of tradition for them to look all intimidating to the ickle firsties, mostly for the fun of it, as well as the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff houses under their house banners.

He absently got into line with the other kids, and found himself anticipating just what the Hat might say to him – after all, who knows how that thing works? Would it be able to see that he was more than the average first year? Probably.

He shook his head to dislodge the speculative mood that he had fallen into and refocused on a visibly younger McGonagall. Quite apart from having black hair, she had less wrinkles and generally looked… _different_ than she had when he had met her in his first year. Her eyes did not hold the shadows or depth that they had held then – maybe that was a result of the war with Voldemort and his lackeys? Maybe it was the stress of teaching the Marauders?

Either way, she looked younger, although she still had the firm aura that commanded respect and obedience – the one that stated she was not one to cross.

Now that he thought about it, Snape and McGonagall were the two teachers that were the harshest with their punishments – it probably had something to do with being the Heads of the Houses most likely to bend the rules.

McGonagall – _Professor_ McGonagall – was unrolling a scroll and everyone was clapping as Harrison realised that he had _once again_ managed to totally ignore what was going on around him.

He blamed it on long periods of being the only one around – one became introspective when one has nothing else to do.

She started the Sorting with "Miranda Alberton" who went to "Ravenclaw" and continued down the list.

Not so long after, the Professor called out "Harrison Jones".

He separated himself from the line and calmly walked over to the (potentially dangerous) three-legged stool and grabbed up the hat, pretty much revelling in the absence of fans whispering about _the_ Harry Potter and so fourth.

He sat down and allowed the hat to fall over his eyes, and found himself staring into darkness and thinking, 'Why did they make a hat that was to go on first years so bloody big?'

He flinched as a voice replied petulantly, _'Have you ever thought that instead of me being too big, you're just too small?''_

Harrison couldn't stop himself from semi-pouting. 'Oi! No short jokes!'

'_Well so-rry.'_ Harry could almost envision the Hat rolling its non-existent eyes. _'So, where to put you?'_

It was silent and Harry couldn't resist distracting it, 'So… you like… stuff?'

The Hat didn't dignify this with a reply.

Harrison pressed on, 'Hey, what's your name, anyway? Cos all they do is call you "The Sorting Hat" I mean, you have to have a name, right?'

The Hat made a sniffing noise, which was odd for an object that didn't have a nose. _'Well, I guess you can call me 'your royal hat-ness, but I'll settle for Bob.'_

Harrison raised an eyebrow. He didn't think the Hat was like this when he had met it, but it wasn't like he had spent any amount of time talking to it. He guessed that any magical object that was only used for an hour every year to look into the minds of eleven year olds would develop some kind of complex, but this was too weird. 'Erm, ok Bob. So, what are you gonna do with me?'

It was silent for a few seconds before the voice said, _'Weeellll… I have you pegged as a Slytherin, but you could really be in whichever house – I was waiting for some kind of cue that said which house you wanted to be in – that's what I mostly go on, anyway. Really, it isn't often I find a child with such a level mind.'_

Harry was confused that Bob seemed to not look into his mind or anything, but after a few moments of thought he realised that had the object been able to do that, it would no doubt be classified as dangerous and consequently destroyed. It seemed like it had some intelligence, and it most likely worked on a sub-conscious level – thus it wouldn't see memories.

Harry reluctantly admitted to himself that his mental age probably _was_ similar to the age that he was pretending to be. Not that Hermione hadn't said it enough. And not that he didn't already know.

'I dunno. Which do you think would best suit me?'

Bob spoke without hesitation, _'Slytherin. You are crafty and I can tell you will do great things – it's all here, in your head.'_

'Hmm. Nah. If I wanted to be discriminated against by the whole school then I would go into the House of Snakes. How bout Gryffindor?'

Bob seemed to be reluctant. _'Choosing not to be in Slytherin for those reasons isn't really conducive to me putting you in that House. If anything, it makes my first choice more relevant.'_

Harrison was insistent. 'If you think my House should be Slytherin, then that just proves I should be in a different House. I mean, if you tell people you're sly and crafty, then they'll know, right? So all the true Slytherins probably aren't in that House, yeah? Because that would be the least crafty thing you could do. So if I'm a 'true' Slytherin, wouldn't I _not_ be in Slytherin?'

Harrison didn't know how he knew, but he could tell that Bob was frowning. _'You really are a Slytherin.'_

Harrison would have nodded his head happily, but decided it wasn't worth the strange looks it would probably attract from his onlookers, 'Yup! That means I can't go into Slytherin! Put me in Gryffindor!'

Bob seemed puzzled, _'So because you are Slytherin I should put you in Gryffindor?... Oh, what the hell. You are confusing me and I hope to never meet you again.'_

Harrison would swear that Bob would be pouting petulantly as he said that last bit, and congratulated himself for annoying and confusing a very old magical object.

Bob shouted, "Gryffindor!" And Harrison pulled it off before practically skipping over to the table that were cheering for him.

He settled down next to a boy that looked to be a new prefect – as concluded by the fact that the badge was shining and he was acting a little over-the-top and Sirius, who gave him a congratulatory high-five. Harrison had never understood the hype of being made 'prefect' or 'head boy/girl' – as far as he was concerned, they were just different words for 'extra work' 'scapegoat' 'thankless job' and 'responsibility' – all of which were things he would rather avoid.

He cheered as Remus was sorted into Gryffindor and waved the boy over.

It was no surprise that James Potter was also sorted into Gryffindor.

Albus Dumbledore stood up as McGonagall put away the Hat and stool, spreading his arms wide. "I welcome all students – old or new – and wish that you have a very good year at Hogwarts. Now, I won't keep you from our delicious feast any longer, so I will just say: Dig In!"

Harrison applauded along with the rest of the Hall, and reached out to snag the highly coveted steak that had appeared in front of him – the competition was _fierce _to get that particular dish, and he could feel some annoyed looks boring into his head as he cheerfully placed a piece on his plate before passing it to a salivating Sirius Black.

He shook his head with a half-smile and focused on devouring what had to be the best meal that he had eaten since he'd found himself in the past – for some reason, cooking and square meals aren't high on your priority list when you find yourself locking up future/present Dark Lords and using legilimency to find their Horocruxes to destroy, not to mention the strange looks you get when you go shopping – _"Where's your mum, Little one?" "Do you think you should be shopping?" _– well, it makes it quite hard.

Harrison was just eating, minding his own business when he looked up and saw quite a few people staring at him strangely. He finished what was in his mouth and asked, "Er, what are you looking at?"

He turned to Sirius, who it seemed had abandoned his meal in favour of joining the staring act. Harrison frowned, "What?"

The prefect leaned over and tugged a piece of hair – very _red_ hair. "Oops." Harrison rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and the hair changed back to the black that it was before.

"Sorry, I forgot about that – sometimes I accidentally loose control." He scowled to himself. _That_ never happened in his other life. But then again, he didn't have to go through the usual maturing of his abilities – Tonks had told him that metamorphmagi regularly lost control of their abilities when maturing because their magic hadn't matured, but by the time he had discovered the ability he was just into his twenties – meaning he didn't have to deal with it.

They were still looking weirdly at him, but it seemed Sirius and his 'Pureblood' knowledge was going to come to the rescue. "That's awesome! You're a metamorphmagus! That's really rare within Purebloods, but almost _unheard_ of from muggleborns! Aw, I wish _I_ was one – I could get in _anywhere_!"

Harrison blinked in a carefully calculated reaction, "Oh, so that's what it's called? It was a pain in the… erm… and it caused me… _problems_. I can't get it to freaking _stop_ lots o the time." He frowned.

The light of recognition came into a few people's eyes, and Harrison saw the whispered explanations to their neighbours and so fourth; even the jealous looks, but ignored them. He had thought it would be best to just get this particular talent out in the open – his magic as it was now was acting up for a reason that he was sure he didn't like.

It wasn't like he'd lost any magic through his 'trip' into the past – he'd kept every drop, including what had once been Voldemort's. But now he could tell it was acting like a child's would – which was very worrying, especially the fact that he had already felt it _growing_ (as if he needed even more?). He'd gotten something that hid his magic almost totally from Knockturn Alley (it was borderline ok) and it took the form of a steel earring that was in the top of his left ear, hidden by his hair.

So it was inevitable that his metamorph talents would be found out, and the sooner the least troublesome for him – after all, people would be wary around someone who tried to hide something like that.

The rest of the banquet passed as normal, and Dumbledore said the obligatory announcements and warnings before dismissing them.

The prefect that Harrison had been sitting next to jumped to his feet, saying "First years follow me please; First years!"

Harrison glanced at the others before dutifully following the boy, who he found out was named Brenton Kirke. It was almost painful to be taken through the longest route where he was used to cutting corners. "Now, the password is 'clean sweep' so remember that, or else you won't get in." Harrison heard the boy mutter about Quidditch fanatics and had to hide a grin when he turned back to them. "Ok. See those staircases? Boys are upstairs to the right, fifth floor and girls are the same on your left. You can't miss them – they have plaques that say your name. Curfew is eight o'clock – that means you have to be in the common room by then or else you'll lose us house points, and let me tell you that no one would like that. If you have trouble finding classes, just ask a prefect or higher class member for directions."

He just shooed them into their rooms, and they had no choice but to go on up.

There were four four-poster beds in the boy's room, and their trunks were at the foot of them. The boys silently got into their pyjamas; the feast and long day had caught up with them, and they climbed into bed automatically.

* * *

A/N: Heh heh heh... I didn't think there were that many stories on here... woops/


	33. HpNaruto: Mission Hogwarts III

**Mission Hogwarts III**

**«×φ×»**

"English"

"_Japanese"_

_ANBU SIGNS_

Chapter Three

**«×φ×»**

_Grimmauld Place, London_

Nix groaned as she heard banging on her door.

"PHOENIX POTTER! WAKE UP! You have been so _lazy_ for the last few days! The _least_ you could do is get out of bed before lunch!"

Nix rolled over, taking her pillow with her and using it to cover her ears. She buried her head into the mattress further, not even bothering to raise her voice to answer.

"PHOENIX! GET OUT OF BED NOW!"

"What is it with you and pulling me out of my sweet, sweet bed?" The teenager grumbled at the voice that was sounding quite threatening at that moment.

There was the sound of a scuffle in the hallway, and Nix settled back down with the hope that Ron would drag Hermione away.

Of course, she had no such luck.

"_Alohomora_" was her answer, along with the distinctive sound of her brilliant lock traitorously sliding open.

She heard footsteps and was forced to wrestle for her pillow. "Give that _back_ 'Mione."

"Oh don't whine Nix, it's unbecoming." Hermione rebuked, throwing her beautiful pillow across the room so that she could only stare wistfully after it.

"But _'Mione…"_

"Phoenix."

"I don't wanna."

"Get _up _Nix, _now! _You _know_ Mrs Weasley said the shinobi will be here sometime after nine – and it's a quarter to now."

"I don't care."

"Well _I_ don't care that _you_ don't care – and you are getting up _now_!" Hermione proceeded to steal Nix's beautiful blanket.

"You suck." Nix grumbled, rubbed her eyes and blearily looked around the bare room.

Hermione scoffed, "And I'm sure I care so much. Now _Get UP!_ They'll be here soon, and it's always a good idea to make a good first impression – we _are_ going to be seeing them for the next year after all."

"Brownnoser" Nix muttered at her back with mock resentfulness. She knew Hermione heard because she gave Nix the finger as she shut the door.

Nix sighed once again to stall before reluctantly pulling herself off the bed. She'd had to suck up to Mrs Weasley and cook lunch for the Order to get herself a single room so that she could sleep in, but she may as well not have bothered with how Hermione persisted in ruining her beauty sleep.

She pulled out the ripped jeans she'd bought and a t-shirt, toeing into her sneakers (there was no way she'd walk around the Black House barefoot) and cheated hygiene with a few quick spells that got rid of any lingering smell, cleaned her teeth and made her raven black hair somewhat presentable (it was _always _a cross between shaggy and wavy, and it only reached a few centimetres past her shoulders with a side-fringe) and trudged out of the room after zipping her bag back up.

She'd learnt the spells out of necessity – travelling around as much as she did and not knowing if you'd be camping out or have access to proper facilities to take care of hygiene properly ensured that when she had discovered exactly what 'magic' did and the society behind it, those had been the very first things she'd looked into. Her bag was covered in patches that she'd bought on her travels and stitched on herself, and looked pretty normal – _if_ you didn't open the zip that ran along the bottom, in which case you could access the part she'd enchanted with an undetectable expansion charm; making it as good as bottomless and _perfect _for holding all her worldly possessions.

There was no one on the stairs other than the spiders, and she smirked upon making the landing that held the front door, admiring the hot-pink lead paint that had weird muffled sounds coming from it. Nix thought it was a great colour for the old bitch… that it shut her up at the same time was only a bonus.

"Coffee" She announced upon entering the kitchen. She ignored the additions and half-stalked over to the coffee pot, glaring at Remus when he tried to talk to her. She snatched up the jug that had been covered in heating charms and poured the liquid into a mug that was not far from it. She threw in a sugar and picked it up, completely ignoring whatever Remus was droning on about.

She was vaguely aware of people moving out of her way as she walked over to a corner of the table, not even blinking upon seeing a dog that was half the size of a horse, and ungracefully dropped herself into an empty chair, leaning it back on two legs and kicking her feet up on the table (hey, it was a crappy table anyway…).

A hand pushed her feet off the table and she threw a disgruntled look at Ron who just so happened to be sitting in the chair next to her. Git.

She let the sound of voices lull into the background as she focused on steadily draining her coffee. It was almost finished when she caught the tail end of Remus' conversation; "…and she'll be joining us any second now. Sorry, it's just she insists that she can't operate before noon unless she has a cup of coffee and it's much safer to just agree and let her do it than steal the coffee and encounter her idea of revenge."

Nix scoffed and put the empty cup on the table very deliberately creating a loud noise before turning eerily green eyes on her honorary godfather and grumbling, "Shut up, I _am_ right here ya know."

Nix didn't miss the incredibly amused expressions that everyone in the room sported (including the eight additions, one of which had _pink_ hair) along with the few raised eyebrows. She rolled her eyes, leaning back in the chair and taking the time to properly scan the people.

The majority of them were around her age, seventeen, and she knew they were as aware as she was of the environment at all times. It was something you learned in the Hidden Countries and around ninja.

Two, a boy and girl, had white eyes that were the trademark of the Hyuuga's dojutsu, Byakugan. There were two boys with black hair and eyes but they obviously weren't related. Another two had spiky, wild hair and slightly animalistic features although once again they did not seem related – one had bright blonde hair, the other brown and she deduced from the tattoos that he was an Inuzuka which meant the dog was his. The last one that looked to be in her age group was the pink-haired girl, and the last of the whole group was an older man with silver hair, a mask and his Konoha headband covering his left eye – she had heard of _him_; Hatake Kakashi.

Nix raised an eyebrow at the Konoha shinobi – Albus had hired the best, at least going on what she had heard the last time she was around Hi no Kuni about the 'Copycat-nin'.

Remus coughed, "Would you introduce yourself to the shinobi, Nix?"

Nix smiled innocently and waved her hand once, "Heya! Name's Phoenix Potter, but you can call me Nix. It's nice to meet you and all that crap."

…Hey, Hermione shouldn't have dragged her out of bed if she wanted her to 'play nice' which, judging by her current expression, was exactly what she'd expected. Nix stuck her tongue out at the bushy-haired teen before falling back on the expression of innocence.

Remus also looked distinctly unimpressed, and she tossed him a cheeky wink. The silver-haired one stepped forward and said, "Yo. I'm Kakashi Hatake, blondie's Naruto Uzumaki, then Kiba Inuzuka and his companion Akamaru, Sakura Haruno, Hinata and Neji Hyuuga, Shikamaru Nara and Sasuke Uchiha." As he talked he pointed to each of them in turn. "We were hired by Dumbledore-san primarily to protect Hogwarts and Potter-san."

When he said that last bit everyone not a shinobi in the room froze. Nix swore that they all stopped breathing in that moment as their wide-eyes swung to her – they all had that 'deer-caught-in-headlights' thing down pat. Once the moment passed and they had all started breathing again (the shinobi just seemed confused) they all started backing away from her person, and quickly.

Nix snickered. "What? It's like you expect me to blow up or something."

At 'blow up', everyone not a shinobi in the room cringed. Nix bit the inside of her lip to restrain full-out laughter.

"Phoenix" Remus said carefully, "Are you ok with Dumbledore hiring… _guards_ for you?" He said 'guards' in a small voice, as if by saying it quietly he could hold off whatever anger may have been incited by this revelation. It was probably very fortunate for them that this _wasn't_ the way she had found out about Albie's other motive for hiring shinobi.

Nix, on her part, immensely enjoyed their complete terror at the idea of inciting her wrath. She leaned back and picked at her nails casually, "I wouldn't worry, Moony. I have a feeling that Albie has had an… _explosive_ morning."

For _some_ reason, this just seemed to make her friends more nervous.

Nix raised an eyebrow, "What? It's not like it wasn't something hard to work out. Honestly (eye role) you people always think the worst of me." She shook her head for affect, and just managed not to break into evil cackles of glee.

Of course, her use of the word 'explosive' seemed to have made an impact on the shinobi in the room (they were really way too tense) but at this point Hermione broke in with her extremely disapproving voice – the one she used when she felt Nix was crossing a line (which admittedly happened more often than one would think), "Phoenix Lily Potter! Just _what_ did you do to Professor Dumbledore? He better be ok!"

It was at this point that a walking… _something_ entered the room. It took everyone a moment to blink and adjust to actually connect this man with Albus Dumbledore. It looked like a paint shop had exploded on him – his skin was a tie-dyed mixture of purples and pinks, his normally pristine white hair was now zigzagged with neon orange and bottle green, and his clothes seemed to be emulating a rainbow. Some of the people in the room literally had to shade their eyes from the colour glare coming off the quite annoyed looking man.

The blonde and brown haired shinobi burst into fits of laughter, and Nix decided that she liked them. Ron, Bill and Tonks were doubled over in laughter, and Nix was overjoyed to see that even Hermione seemed to find amusement from her revenge.

"Morning Albie!" Nix called cajolingly at the old man.

Albus Dumbledore, renown for his rather eccentric taste in fashion sense, pursed his lips at the young woman that he knew was _somehow_ responsible for his current predicament. "Good Morning, Phoenix. I don't suppose you would have any idea how I managed to trigger some kind of explosion in my office today, would you?"

"Moi? Je n'ai aucune idée!"1

Dumbledore pinned his student with a flat stare. Most of the others were still laughing, although quietly enough that they could hear the conversation.

Nix huffed and affected a hurt look and bringing her hands up to cover her heart, "You _wound_ me _deeply_ with your astounding lack of faith, Prof. D! _I_ haven't even left Grimmauld – after all, your people would _surely_ know if they misplaced one of the people they are supposed to keep an eye on, right?" And if that bit was oozing sarcasm, who could really blame her (not that she didn't use that to her favour however) "As such, I can state in complete and utter innocence that I have no idea why you are a walking rainbow today." She nodded at her own statement, affecting her perfected 'I-didn't-do-anything-why-do-you-think-I-did-something' look.

This, of course, had no impact on her esteemed and brightly coloured headmaster. "How do I get rid of it?"

"O-ho-ho asking a _student_ for their help, hey old man? Feeling a little _blue_? How am _I_ supposed to know how to fix," she flourished her arms at the explosion of colour, "_that_?"

Dumbledore favoured her with a frown. "Miss Potter, I do believe that hiring a guard for the coming school year is in your best interest, but with the _event_ that we will be holding, the school is at the same priority level for me – I only assigned you guards because you have a rather bad habit of being in the thick of things."

Nix raised an eyebrow, leaning forward and pinning Albus with a stare of her own; "What does that have to do with anything, Headmaster?"

Albus wasn't about to voice his belief that he was the target for this prank because of the guards that he had posted upon her, and he knew that she would not admit being behind anything – just as clearly as he knew she would never confront him about the additional guards because she saw the need for them… or at least he hoped she did.

Albus turned to the shinobi present, which looked distinctly unsure of what they should be doing in this situation. Albus smiled at them, "I am very grateful you have decided to accept this mission. I invite you all to get settled in, and do not hesitate to ask any questions about our world – I am sure that anyone in this house would be gracious enough to give you the answer." He eyed Nix subtly, just a little wary of some other kind of retaliation and half-wondering how she had managed to discover the guarding mission to get a trap set up prior to their arrival.

Albus nodded to everyone and said, "Well, I am afraid I must leave you here – I have much work ahead of me."

Albus turned to walk out of the room, but just as he crossed the door, he was forced to pause as Phoenix shouted after him, "I may not know who did it and how, but you can bet that'll probably last a month or so!"

Albus Dumbledore sighed, shaking his green and orange hair and continuing his rather ruined exit. Just _why _did Phoenix have to inherit the knack for pranking from her father?

In the kitchen, _everyone_ was giving Nix a flat stare that oozed 'you-are-fooling-no-one', but she just offered up a sunny smile and stood up, stretching her back and arms; "Well, I don't know 'bout you guys, but _someone_" here she stared reproachfully at Hermione, "woke me up at an _ungodly_ hour, so I'm gonna catch some more sleep. Disturb me on pain of intense embarrassment!" She gave them a wave and slunk out of the room, studiously ignoring the stares of the shinobi and her fellow wizards on her back.

She was beginning to think her animagus transformation was more trouble than it was worth, with how long it was taking to assimilate.

**«×φ×»**

_12 Grimmauld place__- shinobi gathering, noon_

The Konoha shinobi were gathering an hour later in one of the bedrooms that had been assigned to them to discuss their thoughts and observations

"_Well, these people seem to be about as sane as the average Konoha shinobi." _

"_Is that supposed to be reassuring, Sakura?"_ Naruto asked, a little confused.

Sakura rolled her eyes and was about to retort when Shikamaru's voice cut in, _"Did you notice it?"_

There were a few confused expressions at the Nara's out of the blue question, but Neji seemed to understand what he was hinting at as he nodded, _"Hai. I found it strange as well."_

"_Ok, I talk for all the confused people in this room when I ask – what the hell?"_

"_Naruto, Shikamaru is referring to Potter-san."_ Kakashi drawled, reading his porn as always.

Naruto rolled his eyes, _"So what, she's hot? I really don't get what you're talking about…"_

Sakura slapped the back of his head and growled, "_Baka! This is a _mission_, you can't check out the clients!" _

Naruto and Kiba traded smirks behind the pinkette's head.

Shikamaru rolled his eyes and leant back on the wall, _"Tch, what I was referring to was how aware she was of the environment."_

That pulled up the few still confused shinobi, and they became more focused on the lazy genius. Shikamaru sighed again and elaborated, _"She was too aware for a regular civilian, especially when compared to the others – it almost reminds me of a trained shinobi." _

Neji deemed it fit to add his observations, _"She was far more relaxed than the others, and showed no surprise or curiosity at our comparatively strange appearance – she was also the only one not wearing robes as I gather is the norm in their society… even the males in the room wore robes."_

Naruto rolled his eyes, _"That was easy to see – but did you see their reactions to when Kashi' mentioned the guarding part of our mission? They all expected her to blow up, which indicates a formidable temper, not to mention that they did not inform her of the decision prior to our arrival… even if she apparently pulled off that (awesome) prank on Albus-san." _Naruto smirked in remembrance, his blue eyes gaining a dreamy look as he muttered, _"I really gotta find out what she used to do that…"_

The other shinobi groaned. As far as they were concerned, it would be much better if their charge and Naruto were not given time to trade pranking tips… they _liked_ Konoha as it was, and they weren't so sure their eyes could survive if it got coloured the same way Albus had.

"_Ano… there was another thing that may be important. Her movements were most similar to a trained fighter – her gait was almost like the slinking of a cat's, even when she was focused on getting coffee." _Hinata had gotten over the bulk of her shyness, _really_, but when a group of people focused their attention on her she seemed to revert a little.

This brought silence as their minds went over her graceful lope and they compared it to a cat, and then a trained fighter; _"It is possible that she has had some training in martial arts – which would make sense if she has been targeted her whole life." _Shikamaru drawled, his mind gathering all their observations and compiling them, building a picture up of the one they had been hired to protect.

Naruto leant back and smirked, _"Did you guys notice the last strange thing about her?"_

This time Kiba and Kakashi seemed the only two to know the answer to that question, and Naruto seemed smug, _"She didn't just walk like a cat – her scent was similar to a cat, although a big one… I'm not sure what that means exactly, but I do know the only other one that smelt like an animal was Lupin, and it was a wolf."_

Neji raised an eyebrow at this, but he knew better than to question their enhanced sense of smell – especially that of an Inuzuka.

Kakashi deemed it necessary to look up from his book as he said, _"She was also the only one that was disguising her magic – it felt like high jounin level, but there were fluctuations consistent with consciously suppressing it. The others – Lupin, Granger, and the Weasley's levels ranged from low to mid jounin, and they definitely weren't blocking anything. The other thing was her magic seemed… closer to the surface than the others."_

Neji, who had activated his Byakugan, was silent for a moment as he examined their host's chakra pathways. His jaw dropped a little and a slight chocking sound ensured that his fellow shinobi were focused on him. "Neji-niisan, what is it?" Hinata asked, activating her Byakugan in turn to see what it was that had surprised him.

"Her… chakra network… it's incredibly strange." He managed to get out, searching for a way to put what he was seeing into words.

"_Well, come on! What is it?"_ Naruto asked impatiently.

Neji nodded, the veins around his eyes still activated, _"First of all, she almost has larger coils than Naruto."_

This of course merited absolutely disbelieving stares. It seemed out of the realm of possibility – a chakra network as large as _Naruto_, the vessel for Kyuubi no Kitsune?

"_Fukanou_" Hinata breathed, apparently seeing what Neji had.2

"_That's not the most surprising thing, however." _Neji continued, not acknowledging their gobsmacked expressions at that declaration, _"When compared to the networks of the other wizards, that she has much of a chakra network _at all_ becomes even more impossible to believe. The others only have the chakra points on their chests activated, and the coils on their arms are extremely thin, which is why they use those 'wands' as conductors for magic. The only one that comes close to having a working network is Lupin-san, and his is barely passable for a genin. The points that _are_ open, however, do allow for the use and building of their magic… it's just more that their magic stays in one place while hers could be mistaken for chakra if not for the speed and pattern at which it runs through her body."_

It took a moment for the shinobi to process this, and Sasuke finally spoke up from his silent spot behind Sakura, _"It seems as though there is more to Phoenix-san than Dumbledore-san hinted at. Perhaps he does not know, but you would think that he would keep a close eye on her."_

"_If she is more competent than he knew, then it can only work in our favour" _Naruto pointed out loudly _"after all, it should mean we won't have to babysit her and worry that she will get herself killed straight away in confrontations." _It would only benefit them if the one they were tasked to guard was a bit more durable than average.

"_We'll sit on it – no need to inform Dumbledore-san of our suspicions, especially since the one they depend upon to destroy their enemies has a better fighting chance. If he doesn't know, no where in our contract does it state we are spying on her for him… don't let on to Phoenix-san for now, it would benefit us to gain her trust." _Kakashi said in a voice that brooked no argument… not that they were particularly inclined to do so, considering all options.

"Well at least we won't be bored." Naruto put in, feeling somewhat curious as to getting to know the subject of their mission.

1. "Moi? Je n'ai aucune idée!" = Me? I have no clue! (French)

2. "Fukanou" = Impossible (Japanese)

And that's it. Juvenile, I'm aware.


End file.
